Scream
by Shi-Toyu
Summary: Jim Moriarty is the type who always gets what he wants...and he wants to hear John scream. Johnnyarty. JimXJohn Smut with serious plot in later chapters! Not as NSFW as it sounds!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Just a little something that popped into my head while listening to Scream by Usher. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters.

Scream

Jim Moriarty was a man who knew what he wanted and didn't have any qualms about making sure he got it. Moreover, he was not used to anything being out of his reach. Then again, his game with Sherlock seemed to already break all the rules. The criminal consultant could feel the tug as his eyes were drawn back to the blonde doctor who was completely oblivious to being watched from across the bar.

Moriarty had chosen the pub on a whim and certainly hadn't expected to find Sherlock's pet already inside, laughing and swapping stories with the other patrons. Since the first time they had met, in the lab when he was pretending to be that silly girl's boyfriend (Mellony, or Marla, or something was her name), Jim had found himself drawn to the man in a way that he was unfamiliar and not in any way comfortable with.

Something about the doctor was just…hypnotic. He wanted to rid the man of those awful sweaters he always wore and see the body he kept hidden beneath. Not for the first time, Jim had to consciously stop himself from licking his lips as he watched the other man. He was just so captivating and Jim's normal control was practically nonexistent. He had hardly touched the drink he'd ordered upon his arrival over an hour ago but he felt his mind was clouded as though he'd been taking shots.

This was always the case whenever John Watson crossed his mind, and he seldom just crossed it. The man lingered and teased Jim even just in his imagination. A shudder ran down his spine and he felt his pants tighten as John gestured to illustrate his current story and the helm of his sweater tugged up, revealing a quick glance of his tanned stomach.

At first, when he'd started having these…urges, Moriarty refused to admit they were feelings because he simply didn't DO feelings, he'd tried to suppress them and when that didn't work he'd tried to turn his attentions somewhere else. Jim wasn't the virgin that Sherlock was. He had a healthy appetite for sex and participated in the activity quite regularly. Or at least he had until he'd been subjected to this damned fixation with Dr. John Hamish Watson. Now no one else seemed to cut it anymore.

It certainly didn't help that Jim had, at the pool, seen the subtle signs of John's own attraction. He'd taken keen notice of the way the other man's pupils dilated or the way his heart rate had picked up when the master mind invaded his personal space, and not with fear. Sure, the attraction was involuntary and the blonde likely had no desire to take action from it, but it made it all the harder to suppress his own urges.

So last in his own thoughts, Jim didn't even realize that he was being approached until someone sat heavily on the stool beside him. Looking up in surprise, he made eye contact with none other than the cause of all of his current problems.

"I would ask what you're doing here but I doubt you'd tell me. This better not be another kidnapping. I got enough of that last time, thanks."

The corner of Jim's lips quirked upwards in amusement. As usual, Sherlock's pet was full of the unexpected. John was right; there was no way he was going to admit he'd spent the last hour watching the blonde because he couldn't bear to turn away. To take the focus off himself, the criminal consultant quickly changed the subject.

"You certainly seemed to be having a good time. I sooo hate to disturb you."

John looked at him for a moment; Moriarty noted the signs of attraction once again, before sighing and turning back to his drink.

"I suppose that as long as you're here, you aren't out blowing something up or killing people."

Dark eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.

"You don't think I could do any of those things from here?"

"Quite the contrary. I know you could. I just don't think you would want to. Forgive me for the assumption, but I don't think this is really your usual scene."

Moriarty nodded in acknowledgement.

"Pubs are generally too loud and too crowded for my tastes, yes."

John smiled at him and the criminal mastermind felt something twist in his gut.

"But you're here tonight."

And there it was the thing that made John Watson so horribly irresistible. He was unpredictable to a fault and had the unique ability to corner people like Jim and Sherlock while never once seeming anything more than the average bloke. Jim felt a twitch downstairs and knew he wouldn't be making it through the night without relief.

And John Watson was going to provide it.

"I'll tell you why, if you'd like, why I'm here." A pause and Moriarty could tell he had John's full attention. "It's because of you. You…captivate me."

The blonde startled back a bit.

"W-what?"

Jim took a moment to savor the surprise on John's face…Delicious.

"You. Captivate. Me." His smile was smug. "Truly, I doubt you have any idea of the unique power you possess."

"Power? Me? What're you going on about?"

"Oh, yes. You're complete obliviousness is part of you charm. Indeed, you are quite the impressive one. Not only are you able to put up with the no doubt considerable irritations that come with living and working with Sherlock Holmes, you have managed with make him feel. True friendship is something that Sherlock never understood before you came along. So you were dragged into our little game. Honestly, I didn't expect you to last long. An ordinary bloke playing with myself and Holmes? But, as has proved to be the norm, you surprised me." His smirk grew into a full on grin. "I like surprises."

Oh, there are the pupils, blown so wide his irises almost disappeared. Encouraged, Jim leaned forward until their noses almost touched.

"Do you like surprises, Dr. Watson?"

* * *

John grunted as his back slammed into the wall. His shoulder twinged in protest but the ex-soldier couldn't bring himself to care with Jim's lips pressed against his own and the criminal's hands on his body. God, they were EVERYWHERE. A moan slipped from his mouth, only to be swallowed by his partner.

"Sherlock's going to kill me."

"Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't talk about Holmes when I'm kissing you."

"Oh? The jealous type? I should've known."

"Better idea. Just don't talk."

Their lips clashed again in a violent kiss, teeth clashing and tongues wrestling. Moriarty moved them backwards, further into the flat that doubled as one of his safe houses. He'd already sent the text that cleared all of his personnel from the area. He didn't need them seeing this. Besides, Dr. Watson made a very sound diagnosis. He WAS the jealous type and he'd hate to have to kill a perfectly good lackey because they'd caught a glimpse of HIS John.

It was a simple matter to maneuver them into the bedroom and push the doctor onto the bed. Jim took a moment to enjoy the sight of his interest sprawled on his sheets, hair a mess and face flushed. His cream sweater was askew and covered way too much. The mastermind growled before accosting his victim once more, seizing the helm of the offending article and yanking upwards, pulling it off in one fell swoop and tossing it aside.

"Getting impatient, are we?"

"What did I say about talking?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was a bit distracted at the time."

A growl ripped itself from Jim's throat.

"New plan. Next time you open your mouth, it'll be to scream."

He attacked John's neck with kisses and nips, worshipping the tan column and pulling a string of moans from the other man. His hand worked quickly to rid the man of his clothes, unbuttoning that atrocious plaid shirt and all but ripping it from his body. His lips moved down to the doctor's collarbone as his hands moved down to the top of his pants.

Inch by inch, he worked his way down. No bit of skin was left unattended to. He lavished the chest beneath him with licks and scrapes from his teeth. It didn't take him long to figure out that John liked a little pain with his pleasure. He paid special attention to the bullet hole in his shoulder that got his sent home. While only a small circle was left on the front, Jim knew there was an impressive spider web of scars on the back of the shoulder. But he would get to that later, preferably when he was already hip deep in the man.

Slowly, he eased John's pants down to reveal more of that skin that tasted so good to his tongue. If Jim were the type to believe in God, he'd surely be thanking the big man now. With abs and hips bones that would make Greek statues jealous, John's body was truly a work of art. His breath was coming in short gasps now as Jim nuzzled the side of his penis, a high whine escaping those bruised lips.

Flicking his tongue out, he made his way up the shaft from base to tip, making sure to collect the drop of pre-cum that had gathered at the head before smirking up at John from under dark brows. Seeing the pleading look on the other's face, he wasted no time in swallowing the man whole. The warmth that filled his mouth was like a promise of the tight heat he would be feeling around his own appendage later.

Humming so that vibrations were sent down the shaft, Jim wrapped his tongue around it as best he could before pulling back until only the head was in his mouth. Glancing up, he saw that his hapless victim's hands were already fisting the sheets, back arched and mouth open. A low moan filled the air as Jim flicked his tongue across the slit and dipped down again.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

Bringing his hands up to the other man's naked thighs, he dug his nails into the skin, just hard enough to leave little dimples but not to break it. His own member nearly hurt and ached for attention. Just a little longer now.

He bobbed his head up and down a couple more times before releasing John from his mouth with a pop, earning a whine in protest.

"Not to worry, Johnny-boy. The fun is only just beginning."

Reaching past the other man, Jim rooted in his bedside drawer to find the lube he kept there for 'special occasions.' He squirted a bit into his hand and went back to licking the gorgeous cock in front of him as he reached down with one hand and slowly pressed a single finger against the bundle of muscles. After a moment's resistance, the ring relaxed and he was able to slide in. He crooked the finger and stroked a node that caused John's hips to jump off the bed, nearly making him choke as his member was shoved a bit too deep.

Using one hand to hold those glorious hips down, he slipped a second finger into that warm depth. He circled the node lightly, making John shudder and moan loudly, before scissoring to loosen him up. All the while, he kept bobbing his head and licking at the thick shaft in his mouth. Another stroke of the node and he was slipping a third finger in, then a fourth.

Once he felt that the man was properly stretched he pulled his fingers out. He gave John's cock one last lick before pulling back and placing a kiss on his stomach, then his chest, and finally his gasping lips.

"Having fun?"

John opened his mouth to say something but Jim cut him off with another kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into the other's mouth and letting him taste himself. He let up only when his lungs were screaming for air, leaving them both gasping for breath.

"Oops, sorry. I forgot I said no talking. My bad!"

He didn't sound very sorry.

Standing, he shucked off his own clothes, folding his items carefully and hanging them over a chair. It was a Westwood, after all.

Climbing back onto the bed he kissed John again. Ooo, he could get used to this…addicted even. Another peck. Who was he kidding? He was already addicted.

"Jim?"

Right. Concentrate. Guess it was true what they said about addictions going to your head. He pressed another kiss to John's lips before settling in between his legs.

"Shhhh…"

He swallowed John's groan as he slipped inside. His mind went suddenly, totally blank as he was engulfed by that sweet heat. He pushed in until he was fully seated and then paused to give John time to adjust. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he wasn't the type to participate in a lot of male on male activities.

Maybe that was the reason why he was so damnably tight, even after being stretched.

Jim knew he could move again when John's hips started pushing against his own. Slowly pulling out, he pushed back into that amazing feeling before setting a fast, hard pace. Angling each thrust to hit against the bundle of nerves from earlier, he sat back and watched the beautiful specimen below him writhe in pleasure.

Nipping and sucking on the other man's neck, Moriarty made sure to leave more than one mark to proclaim that this was his property for all to see. John's cock was caught between their bodies, thriving on the friction of each thrust.

Now, now he WAS screaming. John's voice filled the room, bouncing off the walls and reminding Jim just how good the acoustics in the room where. Oh, yes. He would definitely be keeping this flat for a while.

He felt a coiling sensation in his stomach and knew that it wouldn't be long. Beneath him, John was panting and moaning and pushing back against him.

"Jim…Jim…I'm gonna…I'm so close!"

A feral growl ripped its way from his lips and he leaned down until his lips brushed against his ear.

"Let me hear you scream!"

John did not disappoint as he shouted out his climax, his heat tightening around Moriarty's girth. A few more pumps and he was spilling his own seed deep inside the blonde. Panting, he collapsed on top of the other man.

"That was…"

"Yeah."

After a moment to catch his breath, Jim pulled out and rolled to the side. His forehead stayed pressed to John's shoulder.

"So where do we go from here? I'm not so naïve as to think that you'll suddenly be okay with me trying to kill your partner just because we're shagging."

John hummed thoughtfully in response before speaking.

"I guess there's only one thing to do."

"What's that?"

Now it was John's turn to let an evil smile stretch across his face. He flipped himself easily so that he was crouching over the mastermind.

"Make YOU scream."

And there you have it! Hope you enjoyed it! As of now, this is considered complete, but I will post more bits if there is an interest. Aka: Sherlock's reaction, Lestrade finding out, Jim showing up at Baker Street, Valentine's Day with a sociopath, ect.

Review, if you would be so kind!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alright! So, thank you all for the support you have shown for this story! I really cannot express how happy I am with how this story was received! Here is part 2(There will be more)!

Disclaimer: NOT MINE!

Part 2-Unbelievable

John paused outside of the door to 221B Baker Street before steeling himself and pushing the door open. He'd woken up to an armful of Jim Moriarty(consulting criminal, arch-nemesis of his flat mate, and the newest conquest of John 'Three Continents' Watson) and another round of mind-blowing sex to go with the three they'd had the night before. Despite the warm, contented feeling in his chest, the doctor had no misconceptions that Sherlock would kindly not notice this new turn of events. He could only hope to maybe hide the details.

He entered the flat to find Sherlock pacing, obviously deep in thought. He dashed about grabbing things and shoving them in the pockets of his great black coat.

"John! There you are! Just in time. Lestrade called; there's been a triple homicide in Regent's Park. Apparently the bodies have been mummified! Isn't it brilliant?!"

"I suppose. Have fun. I think I'll stay in and sit this one out, if it's all the same to you."

The detective, who'd still been buzzing around the flat, stopped on a dime and wheeled to face his flat mate. John had the rare pleasure of seeing a look of surprise upon his face. There was a moment of silence in the air between them before Sherlock was suddenly crowding John's personal space, sniffing and examining in a way that made John highly uncomfortable.

"Hey! Stop that!"

"You went home with someone last night. That much is obvious from the stink of coitus that still clings to your skin and obvious bite marks on your neck. That or you were assailed by a vampire on your way home, which I find unlikely given your blood type."

"My blood type? Sherlock, what-"

"What is odd about this particular instance is that you actually have an overlay of deodorant that you most likely threw on this morning before leaving that apartment of your newly acquired lover. Generally you don't bother with such things because you aren't the type to wear frilly, floral scents that are some common to female hygiene products…This is a man's deodorant."

The feeling of dread coiled in John's abdomen.

"It could be that you had an affair with a married or otherwise taken woman but you aren't the type to cheat or to enable those who do. She could live with a man that she was not attached to, but you value personal property to much to share grooming products with just anyone. No, this deodorant belong to the person you slept with. A distinctly MALE person."

Seeing that look of surprise twice in less than five minutes made the debacle John knew would be coming completely worth it. The good doctor drew himself up to his full height and thrust his chin out in an obstinate manner.

"Is that a problem?"

"What? No. No, it's…its fine. It's all fine. Just…surprising."

"Yeah, well, point is, I had a long night. Think you can handle this one on your own?"

"Unfortunately, no, I'll be in need of your medical expertise. You'll have to come with me." He swept past and down the stairs, throwing a shout over his shoulder of, "Come along, John! We haven't got all day!"

John gave a wistful glance at his chair before turning and following the consulting detective out the door.

* * *

"Late night, huh?"

John jerked awake from where he'd dozed off while leaning against a tree at the crime scene to find DI Lestrade smirking at him, a knowing look in his eye. The doctor looked over to where Sherlock was busy arguing with Anderson about some trivial detail that forensic scientist had missed.

"Yeah. You could say that."

"You're a dog. You know that, right?"

"The opinion has been raised to me before, yes."

The DI laughed.

"Well, come on. I'm going to need your help pulling the children apart. God knows you're the only one Sherlock will listen to."

Pushing himself off the tree, John ambled after the Inspector.

"Honestly, I don't know how you've managed to survive so long with such low brain function. You are the perfect example of why some species consume their young at birth."

"You would know, wouldn't you? Freak like you, no doubt you ARE another species!"

John cut Sherlock off as he was about to deliver a scathing reply.

"Alright, alright. Let's focus on the case shall we? Have you got any theories?"

"Well, it's blindingly obvious that these three aren't actual mummies, though the procedure that went through seems to be quite historically accurate. The killer knew what he was doing, probably spent some time in Egypt and has a background in archeology. There's soil residue in the wrappings that I've collected to take back to the lab. That being said, it's safe to say that these bodies were dumped here but mummified within 10 miles of here. Also, there was this."

He pulled a small bit of cloth from his pocket. Holding it out, it became obvious that it was a monogrammed handkerchief. The letters AGH stood out clearly against the stark whiteness.

"Where'd you get that?"

"It was tucked inside some of the wrappings. This," he held out the handkerchief again as if to emphasize its importance, "is a handkerchief that matches perfectly to that of one Sir Anthony Gustav Hutchinson who commissioned us for a case not two years ago."

"I remember that one! His wife lost an emerald bracelet, wasn't it?"

"Yes. A squirrel had absconded with it and I located it in the ventilation system."

"But what does that have to do with this case?"

"Oh, don't be so dense, Lestrade. It's perfectly obvious." They all just looked at him. "Oh, come on! It's right there! Right in front of your noses!" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Who has a thing for sending me items from my previous cases? The shoes? The phone? Now the handkerchief?"

Lestrade suddenly snapped to attention.

"Moriarty."

John stiffened as Sherlock's face lit up in excitement.

"There are a few other possibilities, but he is the most likely. Oh, the game is ON!"

Jim did not order these deaths. Deep down, John KNEW that. He could sense it in a way he couldn't quite explain. He had to do something. He had to divert Sherlock's attention.

"What are the other possibilities?"

It was an innocent enough question, John thought. As Sherlock's back stiffened, though, and he turned his sharp, calculating gaze towards the shorter man, John knew he was blown. Sherlock had figured it out.

"OH." It was almost a gasp, as the younger Holmes brother slotted all the pieces into place. He couldn't believe it. He didn't WANT to believe it. He closed the distance between himself and his partner in mere moments. He spoke in a hushed voice so that only the doctor would be able to hear. "John, please tell me I am wrong. Tell me I am wrong right now and I will forget this thought ever crossed my mind."

"W-well, I-"

"Unbelievable!" He whirled around, raising his voice so the others could hear. "Sorry, Lestrade, something's come up. Text me when you have the lab results. You can send the samples to Molly."

"What? Sherlock! You can't just run off in the middle of a crime scene! What about the case?!"

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid."

Ignoring any further protests, Sherlock grabbed John's arm and hauled him away from the scene, not once looking at his partner. They spent the cab ride back to Baker St in silence, Sherlock glaring moodily out the window while John fidgeted nervously.

"Are you going to talk-"

"Not now."

The curtly delivered command was the only communication they had until they were safely behind the locked doors of their flat. Only then did the consulting detective turn on his partner with a threatening air.

"Really, John? Jim Moriarty? What were you THINKING?!"

The blonde bristled.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I missed the point where you suddenly became the responsible one! In case you didn't get the memo, I'm not the one that goes running off into dark alleys after assassins without back up! I'm not the one who leaves body parts willy-nilly around the flat! Nor do I do experiments with cyanide and arsenic in the cooking pots!"

"That was ONE TIME! I needed to see how the poisons would react when combined with industrial strength bubble liquid! A man's alibi depended on it! Besides, that's not even the point! This is Jim Moriarty, John! Jim BLOODY Moriarty! Or are you forgetting that he strapped you into a BOMB? How about him trying to kill us, do you remember that?"

"Yes, I remember! I know who I bloody well slept with!"

"Apparently you don't! He killed three people last night! Or ordered someone else to."

"No, he didn't! You said there were other possibilities! I suggest you look into them because Jim didn't have anything to do with those three murders."

"Oh, it's 'Jim' now, is it?"

John nearly growled.

"Look, I can't explain it but I know he wasn't involved in whatever happened last night. I can feel it."

"Oh, well then, as long as you can feel it. Sentiment is the destroyer of logic, John!"

Frustrated beyond belief, John pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to his most recently added contact. Putting it on speaker, the sound of ringing filled the room.

"Who are you calling?"

There wasn't time to reply before the call was answered.

"Johnny-boy! I must admit I wasn't expecting a call so soon, not that I'm complaining. To what do I owe this…pleasure? Hoping for a repeat of last night? I am."

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call, Jim."

They could practically hear the man pouting at the other end of the line.

"Fine, love, but know you'll be paying for getting my hopes up later."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the smile that flitted across John's face. Was this what he was going to have to deal with from now on? He'd rather jump of the roof of St. Bart's. (A/N: Too soon?)

"There was a triple homicide last night in Regent's Park."

"Ah, the mummifications! Yes, my people informed me of it this morning after you left. Quite fascinating. Let me guess, the little genius thinks I had something to do with it."

It was at this point that Sherlock couldn't resist throwing in his two pence.

"It has your signature written all over it, Moriarty. I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing with John, but don't think I'm going to fall for you tricks."

"Sherlock! So nice to hear your voice again! It's been a little while, hasn't it? You needn't worry, though; I wasn't involved with the mummies. I positively hate mummification. Soooooooo messy. Besides I'm not playing any games, not right now. No, I'm afraid Daddy's much too busy for games at the moment. I suppose I should mention that I'm not playing with John, either. My attachment to your flat mate is quite sincere, I assure you." There was a pause. "Speaking of which, John, you wouldn't happen to be free tonight, would you? It's only fitting that I take you on a proper date now that we've both acknowledged our attraction for each other."

A blush covered the doctor's cheeks.

"Y-yeah."

"Excellent! I'll pick you up at eight, then? I'm afraid I have a meeting at six and won't be able to get there any sooner."

"That's alright. Eight sounds perfect."

"Wonderful! Oh, and Sherlock, congratulations. It turns out you were right about me the first time we met."

"What?"

"I am gay! Looks like there was more to the underwear than I thought…"

"Unbelievable!"

A/N: And there you have it! I hope you enjoyed! No smut this time, but there might be next! (Depending on what I decide to write about.) If you would like to see anything in this fic, please let me know! I would love to hear about your ideas and what you would like to read! As always, I am here to serve.

I would like to also take this moment to thank the two guest users who reviewed my first chapter. I don't know who you are and I cannot message you back, but I appreciate your support and your reviews made me blush! I hope to see you all next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Alright! So I got this done and out WAY before I thought I would! (Benefits of having nothing to do in a Mexican airport while waiting 16 hours for your flight, I guess.) This did not at all go the way I had planned for it to, but I hope you all like it none the less! I hate to keep you occupied up here so tune in at the bottom of the page for some important announcements!

Disclaimer: I do not own!

Doctor

John Watson was nervous. How could he not be? He was about to go on a _date_ with _Jim Moriarty_. Somehow, that felt like so much more than sleeping with the man.

He also felt somewhat like a silly woman. What should he wear? Was this too dressy? Was it too casual? Jim always wore a suit, but maybe that was only for committing crimes? God, did this jumper make him look _fat_?

He thought, briefly, about asking Sherlock for help but quickly disregarded the idea. He _had_ to be mental to seriously consider that an option. He'd have better luck consulting the skull.

This would be so much easier if he knew where they were going. He wished Jim had told him earlier, but of course he hadn't. He could call and ask, he supposed, but he didn't want to appear too eager. He needed to be calm, cool, collected.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was freaking out.

Invade a perfectly nice country? No problem.

Chase dangerous criminals down dark alleys? Anytime.

Perform a life-saving surgery with only a paperclip, a screw driver, and a bag of crips? He'd done it once. (That was one Hell of an appendectomy.)

But a date with Jim Moriarty? SO not ready.

Which, all things considered was perhaps not something to be embarrassed about. After all, the man was a criminal mastermind who put Sherlock Holmes through his paces on a regular basis and often came out on top. But now we're getting off topic.

John nearly jumped out of his skin when the door of his room flew open to reveal a quite surly looking consulting detective.

"Sherlock?! What do you want?"

Instead of answering him, the dark-haired man swept past him to start rifling through his drawers, throwing clothes over his shoulder at the stunned blonde.

"Wear these slacks, the black can be considered either casual or dressy so you can adapt to your environment. This button up will go nicely, black on black is sure to appeal to Moriarty's tastes. Also, the blue tie will complete the look. It'll bring out your eyes. Do NOT let me see you touch a sweater; it'd ruin the whole effect. Wear your black jacket."

John just stared at his flat mate, arms full of clothes and mouth hanging open. Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation.

"I could practically hear your panicked thinking from down stairs. It's distracting and ONE of us is still has a murder to solve."

The corner of John's lips quirked up into a smile. This was probably as close to acceptance as he could hope to get from Sherlock in terms of his new relationship.

"Thanks, mate."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes again and brushed past the shorter man to return to what he'd been doing previously.

John changed and putted around the house as he waited to be picked up. He'd never realized how nerve wracking the waiting could be. He'd always been the one to pick up his dates and so had never had this experience before. He had to make tea three times before he could concentrate long enough to do it correctly. Sherlock kept glaring at him from the other room.

A black car with tinted windows pulled up outside at exactly 8:05. (John had spent the last five minutes silently panicking. What if Jim _had_ just been playing with him after all?) Sherlock watched from the window as Jim Moriarty stepped out and knocked on the door to 221. Absently, he supposed it was a good thing that Mrs. Hudson was out. It wouldn't do to give her such a fright. He moved to the top of the stairs as John opened the door.

"I must say, doctor, you are looking scrumptious! I'm tempted to skip dinner and go straight for dessert. Sorry I was late, I had a bit of trouble ditching my security. My head of security is getting rather anxious about how much time I've been spending unsupervised."

Moriarty was dressed in his signature Westwood suit, purple tie peeking out to match the amethysts of his cuff links. They were going to a fancy restaurant then, as Sherlock had guessed earlier. Moriarty would be trying to impress John. He should know better than to think that money was going to be what got to the doctor. The blonde was much more likely to swoon over a silly, sentimental gesture than anything else.

Good. Hopefully John would lose interest quickly and things could go back to normal. He tuned back into the conversation going on at the bottom of the stared, realizing that he'd missed John's response. Moriarty was now holding open the door and gesturing John through it.

"Shall we get going then? Oh, and, Sherlock? Don't bother waiting up. I have absolutely no intention of having the good doctor back by morning."

John turned scarlet up to his ears but hurried out the door, no doubt to avoid further embarrassment in front of his flat mate. The criminal consultant waved up and Sherlock before winking and following the blonde out of the door. The moment it shut, Sherlock flew into action.

He grabbed an old, beat up, brown coat from his closet and scrambled out the back window to drop into the alley behind. Taking a moment to map out the London streets in his mind and figure out which one the car had most likely taken, Sherlock pulled his coat close and cinched it shut by tying his scarf around his waist. He darted out of the alley way just in time to see the car turn right at the end of the street. Good, that narrowed down the possibilities.

He took off running, grabbing a hat from a member of his homeless network he'd placed sporadically around the area. He'd known there'd be no time to properly disguise himself before he took off after John. There was no way he was going to allow Moriarty to hurt his flat mate. He didn't believe for a second that the man had simply discovered an attraction to the blonde out of nowhere.

Whipping around another corner, Sherlock spotted the thing he really needed. Dan, a mechanic he'd gotten off a theft charge was waiting with a shiny, new motorcycle, all ready to go. Sherlock grabbed the bike tipped his hat at the man, glad he'd made the call earlier, before revving the engine and taking off like a bottle rocket. Running around in back alleys and across roofs was great, but he'd need more speed if he was going to be able to keep up with Moriarty over any great distance.

He caught sight of the car again as he blew through a red light, three streets ahead. The black vehicle was whipping through traffic at a rate that would be considered dangerous were anyone else driving. Sherlock, however, had no doubt that the criminal mastermind had quick enough reflexes to be able to deal with any situation that may arise. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how John was handling the reckless driving.

He tailed them for another twenty minutes before the car pulled to a stop in front of Marcello's, a French restaurant of great renown. It'd only been open a few months, but rumor had it reservations had to be booked eight months in advance.

Without wasting a moment, Sherlock pulled the bike down a side street and shot a text out. Five minutes later, a young woman from his in leather and tattoos turned down the side street. She carried a server uniform under her arm. When she spoke, it was with an American accent.

"It's my one night off and you still call me back to work. You're lucky I owe you, Sherlock. He's the uniform. Try not to make a mess of my restaurant, would you?"

Sherlock jerked his head in a nod and took the clothes, throwing her the keys to the bike.

"Dan says all the repairs are done. There's nothing to worry about."

"Good. Thanks."

After ducking behind a trash bin to change, Sherlock hurried to the back of the restaurant, slipping in the employee entrance. He grabbed a bottle of wine and some glasses before making his way onto the floor. He spotted John and Moriarty being seated near the back of the establishment, away from the windows. Keeping his head down and quirked to the side, he headed towards a table in their vicinity.

"I can't believe you were able to get a table here! I thought you had to wait months to place a reservation!"

Moriarty's grin was slow as he leaned towards John.

"The owner's brother got himself into a spot of trouble a while back. He worked for a guy who worked for a guy who worked for me. Honestly, I didn't have anything to do with the situation until she brought it to me. We made a deal. I made sure my people didn't kill him and he cleaned up his act, and she provided me with a table at any of her establishments anytime for the rest of my life. It was a good deal and I certainly got the better end of it."

"I didn't realize you were in the business of saving lives. I guess I never really thought about it."

"I have an image to uphold, dear." John blushed lightly at that. "I can't let it get out that I do more business getting people out of situations than I do getting people into them. That was a special case, though. Half the reason I even struck the deal with her was because she actually managed to get in touch with me. For someone with no previous experience in anything even the slightest bit troubling that was very impressive."

The two continued to talk about pointless things as Sherlock drifted around the room, always keeping his face turned away and ducking behind things to keep from being spotted by the two. John would be livid if he found out. As the night wore on and one glass of wine turned into two, turned into three, and dessert was served, John's smile became easier and gestures more affectionate.

He'd hooked his ankle with Moriarty's under the table was leaning closer to the other man whenever he talked. There was a glint in his eye that Sherlock had only seen on rare occasions with John's past girlfriends. (He followed them when he was bored.) That look generally led to things that Sherlock would not allow inside his flat. The last thing he needed was to hear exclamations to deities while trying to work.

That thought, of course, brought mental images to mind that Sherlock really did not want to have. A genius of his caliber obviously had a very accurate and active imagination. He had to duck back into the kitchen to keep from calling attention to himself as he retched at the thought of Moriarty and John doing _that_ in the flat. He would absolutely, positively, not allow it. Never. Ever.

When he returned to the dining room, the two were standing and were about to head for the door. That meant he had to move quickly. Dashing back through the kitchen, Sherlock changed back into his previous attire and made for the parking garage set off to the side of the building. It was easy to slip into the valet section without being seen and even easier to find Moriarty's car.

It took just a moment to jimmy the lock on the trunk and flip it open. Rolling inside, Sherlock pulled the lid shut. (Though not before making sure that there was a release handle of the inside. He wouldn't put it past Moriarty to have such a thing removed from his vehicles.) No more than a minute later did Sherlock feel the vehicle shift as the valet climbed in and took it back to its rightful owner.

What came next was probably the most terrifying thing Sherlock Holmes had ever experienced and the closest he had ever come to looking Death in the face. If someone had come to him in that moment and offered him any religion in the world, he would have taken them all. As reckless as Moriarty's driving looked from afar, it was a thousand times worse when you were locked in a trunk.

It took several minutes for Sherlock to recover after the vehicle had screeched to a halt and been turned off, one wheel sitting pretty on top of the curb. The first thing Sherlock did after managing to stumble out of the back was to empty his stomach into the nearest bush. He didn't even care if Moriarty had snipers in the area. He hoped they would shoot him and put him out of his misery.

After some more time passed with Sherlock laying on the blessedly still ground, the detective finally managed to make it to his feet without being sick again. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat, glad not to have worn his black one. He'd hate for anything to happen to that coat. Once he'd caught his breath, the detective cast around for clues as to which of the buildings John and Moriarty had disappeared into.

The scuff mark of a shoe by the door jumped out at him from the building just to his right. The wall still clung to a few loose fibers from John's shirt. The scene of the blonde doctor stumbling into the wall played out in Sherlock's head as though he were watching it happen. No doubt his partner was too inebriated to retain his full coordination.

Given the man's build, three glasses of wine was plenty to lower his inhibitions and make him quite suggestible, not to mention the delay it would add to his reaction time. Besides, it was entirely possible that Moriarty had managed to slip something into John's drink during the few times when Sherlock had been in the back. The car ride would have given it plenty of time to kick in and by now he would be an easy target for the mad man. There was no telling what he had planned, be it killing John now or keeping him alive in captivity for some other nefarious purpose.

If he was to thwart Moriarty's plans, he would need to act fast. John needed him. The stubborn, occasionally dense ex-soldier had managed to wrangle a position in Sherlock's life that no one else could claim; that of a friend. Sherlock would be damned if he let Moriarty take that away from him.

He bound up the stairs of the building until he located the right door. John's tie lay upon the floor outside, no doubt lost in the heat of a scuffle. The door hung slightly ajar, which meant that Moriarty hadn't had time to close it since accosting John. As he drew close, Sherlock heard the blonde cry out. Throwing caution to the wind, the detective burst inside, intent on saving the blogger he now considered family.

John had his head thrown back, mouth agape as Jim worked that amazing, fantastic tongue between the doctor's legs. They hadn't even made it into the living room before things had heated up. John had ripped his tie off in the hallway, pushing Moriarty into his own apartment with a furious kiss. He'd made an attempt to kick the door closed behind him but wasn't sure, and didn't care, if his effort was actually successful.

He let out a sharp cry as Jim scraped his teeth along his erection. He could die in this moment and be completely happy. Knotting his fingers in dark hair, John was about to pull the man up to ravage his mouth when the door slammed open.

He jumped and his eyes flew wide open to find Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open. He seemed to scramble for words.

"Wha-But…I thought…"

The interruption didn't seem to have bothered Jim, who pulled back slowly and gave John's cock a goodbye kiss on the head. He didn't, however, get off his knees as he twisted to face Sherlock, shit eating grin spread wide across his cheeks.

"So, I see you finally made it out of the trunk of the car. To be totally honest, I was starting to worry."

Sherlock sputtered while John seemed incredibly confused.

"You _knew_?"

"What trunk?"

"Didn't you know? Sherlock's been following us ever since we left your flat. He kept flitting around the restaurant like an angry humming bird and then he slipped into the trunk of my car while it was still in valet parking."

"Is _that_ why you were driving like that? I thought you were going to kill us! And, Sherlock! I don't even know what you say to you! This is so completely inappropriate I can't even find the words to describe it!" It seemed that in John's anger, he'd forgotten that he was exposed. "What gave you the right to tale me? You'd better have a real good explanation for this! So help me God, if the word 'bored' comes out of your mouth!"

The detective could feel the blackness closing is around the edges of his vision. He shook his head to clear it, but that only seemed to make the feeling worse. He was having trouble thinking.

"I thought he was…I only…What?"

His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his knees buckled and he passed out, crumbling to the floor in the doorway. John huffed in a long suffering way, but Jim's grin only got impossibly wider.

"I think it's kind of sweet he came after you. It makes me feel better that you're in good hands while I'm not there. I like knowing that he'd try and help you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Obviously, he thought I had some nefarious purpose for you and so came to rescue you. Quite touching, really."

John sighed again.

"Alright, let's move him out of the doorway. Just shove him into the hall. Serves him right for thinking I need protection. It's a lesson you should learn, too."

He sent a warning glance at the dark haired man still kneeling before him before letting a small smile slip out. He nudged Sherlock out into the hall and grabbed his tie before shutting the door. Jim grinned at him, still on his knees, before speaking.

"Now, Doctor, about that oral exam…"

A/N: So there you have it. Honestly, I had intended to put more smut in this chapter but it just didn't turn out that way. I do need your help though! I need to figure out who to write about next! I know exactly how I want Lestrade, Mycroft, and Sebastian Moran to find out about our delicious little couple, but I don't know who to write about first. As the readers, who would you like to see?

Also, would you like more smut? I realize that smut in the first chapter probably put expectations in that direction, but a lot of the ideas that I have do not currently involve it. However, if that is what people want, I can definitely go in that direction, though it will probably not be every chapter. Let me know!

Also, thank you all for the fantastic, wonderful reviews! You make me feel so good about myself instead of like the total slacker that I am! You're wonderful! I have tried to reply to everyone who has sent me a message, but there are so many of you who are Guests I can only post my gratitude here! Thank you SO MUCH!

There is one Guest in particular who sent me a rather amazing idea that I love. (The one who spoke of consensual Jonnyairty being hard to find.) Since I cannot reply to you any other way, I wanted to let you know that your idea will play into later chapters, though perhaps not for a little while. I just wanted you to know that I had seen your review and thought it was great!

Alright, then, I will stop with the incessant chatter now. (If anyone is even reading this still, reference blue bubblegum in your review and I'll send you a cyber cookie, maybe even do something better.) Review! I love it when you do! And I hope to see you all next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Well, here we have it, the fourth installment of our little story. This one is about Sebastian Moran. I want to take a moment to explain who this is, as I am aware that some who have watched the show but not read the books may not be familiar with the character. Moran is Jim Moriarty's right hand. He basically takes care of the dirty work. He was a Colonel and I have taken some liberties with his backstory, so please do not take everything you read here about him as fact. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own!

Captain

Sebastian Moran did not like it. He did not like it one little bit. His employer, Jim Moriarty, had been acting…strange. There was no other way to describe it. It wasn't his normal 'I'm a mad genius' strange, either.

As second in command, it was Moran's job to oversee Jim's operations, make sure everyone was doing their job, and manage Jim's personal protection. You didn't make it to the top of the underworld without making a few enemies, after all. For the last few weeks, though, Jim had been disappearing. He'd either ditch his guards, which always gave Moran a heart attack, or dismiss them with the threat of death or being fired. (Basically the same option)

At first, the ex-soldier had tried tailing his boss. He'd rather get caught doing that then have something happen to Moriarty. If Moriarty fell, there'd be no containing the fall out. Besides, he was fairly sure that his boss wouldn't kill him. He was the only one Jim seemed to connect with, even if only vaguely.

Tonight, though, tonight it did not matter. Jim Moriarty was not Moran's problem tonight. He was going to relax and go to a pub with some of his old army buddies. He was going to knock back a few beers and tell stories about the good old days and if anyone so much as mentioned responsibility, he was going to shoot them.

He'd already arranged for his boss's protection for the night and had even drawn a promise from the man that he wouldn't ditch them. He'd muttered something about not having anything better to do and huffed in obvious annoyance before stalking off to another meeting. Unless something major came up, Sebastian Moran had the night off.

That, he _did_ like.

He arrived at the pub a few minutes early, a habit he'd picked up from his first Captain in the army. Speaking of which, he spotted the man already staking claim on a table off to the side of the bar, enough out of the way so that they wouldn't have to battle the music to talk. He approached the table with a grin and laugh.

"Well, if it isn't Captain John Watson! How are you doing, mate? It's been years!"

The blonde rose to give him a strong hug before gesturing for him to take a seat.

"Sebastian! I haven't seen you since they promoted you to captain and gave you your own unit! What are you doing these days?"

"Made it all the way to Colonel before I left. Now I do some private security work for a bloke in the area."

"I always knew you'd be good at that sort of thing. You always had an eye for the details."

They continued to chat as more and more of their old army buddies trickled in, soon filling the table and two more on either side. They swapped stories and traded experiences since they'd been back. Kingston had gotten engaged and a round of shots was called for, as wedding invitations were extended to all those present.

Eventually, conversation turned to Watson and his blog. Moran was perfectly aware that Watson worked with Sherlock Holmes and had come to terms with the fact that he'd probably have the kill his former Captain someday. He'd been one of the ones holding the sniper rifle that day at the pool, but he tried not to let that get in the way of their current friendship.

They listened and laughed as the blonde doctor talked about the crazy adventures the two had shared.

"So we're standing there, in the middle of this woman's apartment while she waves this gigantic purple dildo at us! I swear, the thing had to be the size of my forearm! I can't imagine where she possibly could have been putting it! Now Sherlock, in all his infinite wisdom, chooses that moment to turn to me and say, 'She didn't do it, John. There is no way that thing could have caused the blunt force trauma we saw in the victim.' I about decked him, I swear!"

The room burst into laughter and Moran had to clap John soundly on the back.

"You were always great at telling a story! I don't see why you didn't put that one on that blog of yours."

"And deal with the temper tantrum that Sherlock was sure to throw? No thank you. I deal with enough of his shenanigans as it is! He can't even stay out of my relationships! You know, two weeks ago, he followed me on a date? The git broke into the car while it was valet parked and _hid in the bloody trunk_. Who does that?"

"Maybe he's jealous! Wouldn't be the first time someone had wanted a piece of Three Continents Watson."

Moran waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner before bursting into laughter. He knew full when that John and Sherlock weren't involved in that way, but that didn't mean he was going to pass up a perfectly good opportunity to rib his former Captain. The look of 'oh, Hell no' that decorated John's face was well worth it.

"I don't even want to _think_ about that, ok? Besides, I am otherwise engaged."

"Oh! Looks like John Watson is getting serious!"

Davies leaned forward with a grin so wide it nearly split his face in half. Matthews and Roberts leaned closer. After all, John had been known in their unit as a man who flitted from woman to woman without a problem and with the news from Kingston earlier in the night; any hint of commitment was taken to a whole new level.

"Well, it's only been a couple weeks. I wouldn't say it's _that_ serious yet…"

"Yet! The bloke said yet!" Davies, who'd had a bit too much to drink already, was almost half way across the table by then. "So tell us, Captain! Who's the lucky lady?"

John leaned back in a hopeless attempt to protect his personal space. He seemed to flounder for something to say. Hesitation was the wrong thing to do, like showing fear to a wild animal. Now Roberts and Matthews had joined in, drawing the attention of the others.

"C'mon! What could a name do?"

"Yeah! Just give us a name! What's the harm in that?"

John still floundered, much to Moran's amusement. They were going to eat him alive.

"W-well, I…I mean we…Uh-"

"Seb~! Something's come up~! I need you back in the office!"

Moran nearly growled as Jim _bloody _Moriarty swept into the pub. So much for his night off. Not to mention that now John would know who he worked for, which meant all his other army buddies would know. Yeah, this was definitely shit creek.

He glanced at John to gauge his reaction, but instead of fear or anger he only saw surprise. A quick check of his employer saw the same expression mirrored there. Jim, however, recovered much more quickly.

"Johnny-boy! I wasn't expecting to find you here! How do you know Seb?"

John kind of shook himself to get over the shock before glancing at Sebastian, a look in his eye that the other could quite read.

"We were in the army together. I was his Captain."

"Isn't the world such a small place?" He flitted around the table to drop a quick kiss on the blonde's mouth. "As much as I'd like to stay and chat, there's an embezzlement scheme in Italy that simply _must_ be dealt with. I'm going to have to steal Seb and run."

Now John was looking at him and Moran dimly registered that every single one of their army mates were silent, watching this unfold with rapt attention.

"Wait, so you work for _Jim Moriarty_?"

Moran cleared his throat.

"Yeah, and did he just _kiss_ you?"

Jim huffed behind them. He'd always hated being ignored. He yanked on Sebastian's arm in an attempt at getting the man to stand.

"Yes, yes! I hired Seb right after he got out of the army to help me keep my business in line. He's been an absolutely invaluable resource. John and I have been going out for the past several weeks, which is why I've been ditching my security detail. And yes, we are fucking. It's wonderful. Now can we get back to business?!"

Moran collected himself and stood, still trying to absorb this new information.

"Right. Yeah." He glanced down at John. "I'll, uh…I'll call you."

"Sure."

The blonde Captain looked as shocked as he felt. Jim dipped down for one last kiss before spinning around and heading for the door.

"I'll see you Friday, love~! Do make sure Sherlock doesn't duct tape you to a chair again, would you?"

Sebastian Moran sent a final look back as he stepped out of the doors to the pub. He did not envy the looks John was getting from the remaining group. He did not envy them at all.

A/N: I know! I know! It's a bit shorter than the others (Only 4 pages on Word), but it came out quicker, so I guess that's the trade-off here. I certainly hope you have enjoyed it. I am not sure quite how the next chapter will go, or even what it will be about, but I am hoping to get it done soon. I am off of work quite a bit this week and am hoping to get some writing done.

Once again~! What would everyone like to see? I only heard back from one person on the last chapter, and their answer was all of the above. Who's first now? Lestrade or Mycroft? I am loving all of the suggestions that I have gotten from various people, thought I admit I will not be using them all. Bits and pieces of all of these ideas will be featured in upcoming chapters. Bring them on!

Also, would you like to see more action between Jim and John? More smut? Anyone?

Thank you again to all of my reviewers! I have had several repeat reviewers and I can't even begin to tell you how excited that makes me! I love you all to death and hope to hear from you again in future chapters! You are wonderful! I am sorry to all of the Guests who review because I cannot reply.

It also appears that no one really reads this far into my author's notes. So, like our dear Jim, I have decided to play a game. I will be clearly stating a word or phrase for reviewers to add to their reviews, each chapter that no one includes that word, the prize for including it will go up. These prizes will not be cyber cookies, but other things that actually involve the story. This time, it's Mayans, since I was just in Mexico. Let's see how long this lasts, shall we? Enjoy.

Until next time, my loves!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So sorry for how long this took to get out! Mycroft just absolutely did not want to be written about! Also, this chapter is dedicated to the lovely and wonderful Chret. Details in ending Author's Note.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

Warnings: Guy on guy action.

Quandary

Mycroft Holmes was in one. He wasn't used to the situation and he most certainly didn't like it. It was one of the many things that were different between himself and his brother. What he was in was a quandary; a disagreeable or puzzling situation, a perplexity.

The root of this problem? Jim Moriarty, but not in the way the man usually was.

Usually, he made a nuisance of himself by, well, making a nuisance of himself. He stole government secrets and derailed MI6 missions. He paid cabbies to kill people and strapped little old ladies into bomb vests. Now, it seemed, he'd found a new way to torture the elder Holmes brother.

Jim Moriarty was silent.

Neither hide nor hair had been seen of him. There were no rumors of plot or whispers of conspiracy. The government kept an eye on people like Moriarty. (Really, though, there are no people like Moriarty.) The man had just seemed to have lost all interest in organizing crimes.

That being said, he did continually drop off the radar. This was nothing new, though.

Mycroft Holmes knew perfectly well that he only saw the bits of Moriarty that Moriarty wanted to have seen. This, of course, did nothing to lessen his concern. A fact which, in turn, caused the quandary he was currently in.

It was never good when a man like Jim Moriarty was silent.

This meant one thing. Mycroft was going to have to resort to legwork. He could get his brother involved, the fool was always giddy about such adventures, but he was loath to get his brother into anything involving Moriarty. That never ended well.

"He's exited the café, sir. Target is heading south down King's Port. Proceeding to follow."

CCTV footage had tracked the mad man down to his current location, grabbing lunch with his second in command. When Mycroft had first learned of Sebastian Moran, and his past connection to John Watson, he had become instantly suspicious of his brother's flat mate, never mind that he and Sherlock had been living together for quite some time at that point.

Luckily, there seemed to have been no further contact between the two. John and Moran hadn't seen or spoken to each other since Moran had been promoted the first time. Admittedly, a part of him was glad. Mycroft would not have enjoyed having to be the one to tell Sherlock that his flat mate was in league with the enemy. But all such thoughts were irrelevant at the moment, he needed to focus on the work. If anyone deserved his full attention, it was Jim Moriarty.

His car pulled away from the curb and drove after the rest of the team. There were six teams of two tailing the criminal mastermind. They switched out every few minutes so as not to draw attention. Mycroft had hand-picked them for this assignment and they were the best of the best. He could only pray Moriarty didn't figure it out.

20 minutes later, Mycroft's prayers were answered as the team watched the man enter an apartment building that had not been on the previous list of his known residences. Parked up the block, Mycroft had a clear view of the door and was elated when Moriarty appeared just minutes later in a new suit, still flanked by Sebastian Moran. The long distance microphones the team was using easily picked up on the conversation the two were having.

"I want everyone out of the area, Seb. Everyone. This is a very important night for us and I will _not_ have anyone disturbing my…special guest." The look of his face was so dark that even Mycroft felt a chill. "If I catch so much as a whiff of a guard…"

Moran held up a hand to forestall the threat.

"I will take care of it, sir. You won't be disturbed."

Like a light switch, Moriarty's face transformed into a smile.

"Excellent! I can't even begin to explain-"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by an obnoxious ring tone splitting the air. A look of absolute joy radiated from Jim as he dug through his pockets for it.

"Never gonna give you up! Never gone let you down! Never gonna run around and desert you! Never gonna-"

"Hello, love. I'm walking out of the apartment now. You all ready?"

There was a pause as the person on the other end of the call responded. Whatever they said was clearly upsetting as the grin slid off Moriarty's face. Thunderclouds moved in its place. His hand twitched by his hip as if to go for a weapon.

"He _WHAT_?!"

The mastermind made a hand gesture at his second in command as he continued to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone. Moran pulled out a cell of his own and began shooting off texts. Moriarty seemed to make a physical effort to control his temper.

"I have people on the way. If he is _anywhere_ in the vicinity…" Another pause. "I'll see you soon."

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Moriarty slid into one of the cars parks at the curb.

"You know what to do, Seb. Do not disappoint me."

The car peeled away with a squeal, leaving Moran to take up a jog down the street. As soon as the ex-military man was out of sight, Mycroft moved to exit his own vehicle. They would need to move quickly if they wanted to get in and out of the apartment without getting caught.

It took Mycroft maybe three minutes to identify the correct unit and even less for his team to pick the lock and get the door open. The three men who made up Mycroft's hand-picked team swept into the apartment and immediately set to work installing cameras and bugs that would allow for discrete monitoring. The man himself turned his attention to observing the apartment, walking calmly from room to room to see what he might discover.

The entire place seemed oddly…domestic. The elder Holmes brother wasn't naïve enough to believe that there would be obvious signs of Moriarty's nefarious lifestyle, but there were subtle things he noticed that seemed at odds with the mastermind's personality.

In the kitchen he found biscuits and tea in the cabinet (chamomile, too calming for Moriarty's tastes) and there were two cups by the sink. They'd been there too long to have been used just a few minutes ago by Moriarty and Moran, so someone else had been in the apartment earlier in the day. Moran had been under surveillance so it hadn't been him. Mycroft momentarily entertained the idea of swabbing it for DNA before brushing the idea aside, Moriarty would notice and, with the cameras, they would know soon enough anyway.

The bedroom held another treasure trove of interesting details, though they still left Mycroft with more questions than answers. The bed had clearly been slept in on both sides and the indent left behind said this wasn't a rare occurrence. Someone steady in Jim Moriarty's life? That was unexpected. Obviously, this person was also trusted enough to be around the consulting criminal while he slept, too. You didn't get where Moriarty was without making enemies and he wasn't the type of man to take chances, so this was no small feat.

It was no wonder Mycroft hadn't found out about this place earlier. Someone this important would have been jealously guarded so as not to be used as a weakness. That being said, Mycroft doubted Moriarty would think twice about letting whomever this individual was die in order to preserve his anonymity. After all, if there was one thing Mycroft could appreciate about the criminal, it was his lack of sentiment.

There were two toothbrushes on the bathroom counter, further cementing the idea that Moriarty's lover stayed the night on a frequent basis. What interested Mycroft, though, were the other bath products, or lack thereof. Deodorant, shaving cream, and a razor were set out neatly on the counter and an all-in-one shower gel/shampoo bottle was set on the lip of the shower area. A couple more, expensive looking products cluttered one corner of the shower. Each product, though, was for MEN.

Jim Moriarty's lover was a male.

Truthfully, Mycroft couldn't say he was wholly surprised. He had met the man, after all. Still, the confirmation jarred him. Even with the evidence in the rest of the house, Moriarty had always seemed somehow…above physical entanglements. Mycroft almost jumped when one of his men appeared behind him.

"We have all the equipment set up, sir."

"Excellent. There is to be no trace we were ever here, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Three hours later found the elder Holmes brother sitting in his office, computer open in front of him. He had wasted no time in returning to the office so as to observe Moriarty's flat. The cameras were all working perfectly, but they wouldn't be able to test the bugs until Moriarty returned home. True, Mycroft could have assigned someone else to the boring task of watching the empty apartment, but this was too high priority to leave in the hands of an underling.

He straightened in his chair as movement on the screen caught his attention. Jim Moriarty strolled confidently into the apartment, looking back over his shoulder at someone who was obviously a couple steps behind.

"What I want to know, love, is what you plan on doing to make it up to me."

Jim's grin was sinful at best and Mycroft couldn't stop his eyes from bulging at the next person who stepped inside.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

John strode easily after his lover, a grin just as devious decorating his face. The things that smile did to him…

"Come here, Dr. Watson."

As soon as he was close enough, Jim reached out to grab the front of his black jacket (God, he was glad the blonde had stopped wearing those awful sweaters on their dates.) and yank him the rest of the way forward. Their lips crashed together viciously, teeth clicking painfully, but neither made any move to lessen the pressure between them. John wrapped his arms around the other's waste and pulled their bodies flush against each other. Neither could tell who moaned, maybe both of them.

Jim pulled back just enough to speak, lips still brush against each other with every word. His eyes smoldered with lust. God, before John he never knew he could feel this way. This, _this_ was what life was about.

"Clothes. Off. Now."

It was a demand that the good doctor wasted no time is following. His coat was carelessly flung to the side, ending up over the back of a chair, as he all but ripped his shirt from his body. The pants would have followed, but Jim found that he couldn't stand to wait any longer. His hands found John's sides, dancing lightly over his ribs to an imagined melody while he dipped down to lick a stripe up the blonde's abdomen. A moment later he was attacking the blonde's neck, drawing out delicious moans that caused a tightening in his pants. Jim's tongue flicked out to lick the shell of his lover's ear.

"Let's take this somewhere more…comfortable."

The two stumbled over one another on their way to the bedroom, neither able to keep his hands off the other. It was so hard to be in public together, unable to touch…John was too concerned with public decency and Jim didn't want to upset John…yet. The doctor was just so cute when he was flustered.

Jim shoved the blonde back onto the bed, taking a moment to admire the tanned skin and powerful build. Chest rising and falling rapidly, pupils blown wide with desire, legs splayed across the sheets. He was irresistible. Dimly, he wondered how he'd made it through life pre-John. Now, though, his mind was much more focused on fixing the problem of John still having pants on. That would just not do.

He prowled forward before crawling onto the bed and over his prey. He pressed a light kiss to the man's mouth before diving back in for more. Their tongues battled for dominance as the doctor made short work of his suit jacket and shirt. Soon, they were both bare chested, trousers tented, panting hard. The blonde grinned up at him.

"This never gets old, does it?"

"Not if we did it every day for the rest of our lives."

Their lips connected again briefly before Jim broke away, working his way down John's neck while his hands worked one his belt. As he pulled the pants of the other man, John grabbed him round the waist and flipped them over with ease. He grinned up at the brunette from his place on his knees, mischief gleaming in his eye. Without breaking eye contact he leaned forward to nuzzle the bulge in Jim's trousers.

He rose up to connect their lips once more as his fingers worked at the consulting criminal's waistband. He then kissed slowly down the man's chest as he slipped those black slacks off. Pausing at the other's bellybutton, he swirled his tongue around it before letting the wet muscle dart inside, teasing the man beneath him. Jim's hips jerked in anticipation, precum already leaking from the head of his cock.

Slowly, torturously, John licked a stripe from Jim's base to his tip, once again holding eye contact the entire time. Jim shuddered and shut his eyes as the other swirled his tongue around the tip before taking the member into his mouth. Bit by bit, John slipped more of the other man inside of his mouth, relishing the small sounds that filled the room. He was about halfway down before the other finally broke and said something.

"John, if you do not hurry up I swear I will make you regret it."

Instead of giving in like his lover had hoped, John pulled away.

"Really? That sounds like a challenge…"

Grabbing Jim's discarded tie from the floor, he grabbed his lovers hands and lashed them to the headboard before the other had time to react. Surprise glinted in those dark orbs and John reveled in it.

"My, my, Johnny-boy. I had no idea you were into bondage…"

The blonde smirked.

"You learn something new every day. Besides, what was it you said that first time in the pub? I'm full of surprises."

He didn't give the other man time to respond as he went back to work between his legs. Stoking the shaft with one hand, John licked at the others heavy balls before taking them into his mouth. For someone without much experience with other men, he learned quickly. Jim was soon moaning loudly and bucking his hips up off the sheets.

Oh, God! He was gonna…He was gonna-and John stopped. He sat back on his heels and grinned as Jim whined at the loss. The curling sensation in his gut lessened a bit, but his member ached with the desire to release. Already, he was covered in a faint sheen of sweat. John delivered a light kiss to his shaft, his stomach, his chest, and finally his lips before whispering in his ear.

"I'm going to make you beg for it."

The consulting criminal's eyes shot wide open and he arched upward, desperate for contact after what those words did to him. He wanted John to ravage him, to use him in any way the other saw fit. But he wasn't going to beg. He was Jim Moriarty and he did not beg. Instead, he smirked back at the other man.

"I'd like to see you try."

A thumb swiped over his exposed nipple, making his body jerk in pleasure. How had he not noticed where John's hands were?

"As you wish."

As one hand continued to play with the nipple on the right, John's mouth turned its attention to the nipple on the left. He dragged his tongue across it, watching it pucker and harden in the cool air. He sucked it into his mouth, eliciting a low groan from its owner before biting down lightly, teasingly. His other hand pinched its own play thing, drawing more delicious moans from his captive.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim was glad he'd chosen to wear a silk tie for this date. Otherwise, his wrists would have already been rubbed raw by their bindings. He writhed beneath John's ministrations. Good Lord, where did he learn to do those kinds of things with his mouth?

Once again, he was getting closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building and the coil in his abdomen winding tighter and tighter. He was almost there. So close…and John was gone again. Jim almost cried out at the loss. His body arched in an attempt to follow the other man.

"Ready to give in yet?" Jim just glared at the man. "I'll take that as a no."

John reached across his victim to open the drawer of Jim's bedside table. He didn't even have to look to locate the bottle of lube inside. He knew where it was by now. Popping the cap, the poured a liberal amount into his palm. He moved his now slicked fingers to trail along Jim's inner thighs, teasing him and making his squirm without the threat of getting him off.

"So I was wondering…" Here he assumed a casual tone, fingers inching higher and higher as he spoke. "You once let yourself get caught by Sherlock's brother so you could get information out of him, right? He held you for weeks without getting you to talk…" His fingers brushed against the ring of Jim's ass, still teasing. "Let's see if I can't do any better, eh?"

He punctuated his statement by thrusting two fingers deep inside his partner, which caused the other's back to arch off the bed as his fingers curled to find the familiar bundle of nerves that would set his lover on fire. Just as quickly, he withdrew his fingers from the tight heat and began teasing Jim's entrance again. His own cock ached and hung heavy between his legs, but John pushed his own needs aside for the time being. That time would come.

"What do you think? Is it working?"

Jim only growled at him, causing a smile to cross the blonde's face. Who knew he could be such a sadist? The thought only turned Jim on more, especially when the aforementioned man slipped his fingers back inside him to slowly scissor and stretch him. A whine slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Curse this man and his devilish, wonderful fingers. Surgeon's fingers, he thought absently, suitable for delicate work.

That predatory look on the blonde's face shouldn't make him this hot. He'd never let anyone tie him down before. He'd hated the feeling of vulnerability. Now, though, it only served to excite him. Who was this man who could make him feel such things?

All thoughts ceased as John brushed his fingers against his nerve bundle again before withdrawing. Another whine escaped him, along with an almost pleading, "John!" He saw the blonde's eyes light up.

"What was that?"

But Jim kept his lips tightly shut. If he let them open at all, who knew what was going to come out. This only seemed to amuse the blonde further, though. Jim watched with rapt attention as he squeezed out some more of the lube and slicked up his cock.

"Don't worry, Jim. I think I know what you want."

Lining up with Jim's entrance, John slowly pushed his way in. He sighed as the heat engulfed him, almost causing him to break control. If there was one thing the army had taught him, though, it was patience. The longer he held out, the better this would be in the end. Once he was fully seated inside he lover, he took a moment to observe the man beneath him much as Jim had done earlier.

The man looked…debauched. His hands bound to the headboard above him, chest heaving, face flushed…it was a sight to behold. And John reveled in it. He'd never been one much into bondage, though he had tried it once or twice. Somehow, though, the sight of Jim tied up beneath him drove him wild. He couldn't think of a single thing sexier. Except, of course, for making this debauched man beg.

Slowly, he drew out until just the tip of his member remained inside the other man before easing his way back in. The pace was torturous for both men and John was soon unable to resist picking up the pace. It wasn't long until Jim was writhing beneath him, moaning filling the air. Still, John didn't forget his goal and the moment he felt the other getting close, he forced himself to stop. Jim's cry was borderline angry. Despite his own frustration, John did not relent.

"You know what you need to do."

There was a moment of tense silence.

"Please…"

"Please what?"

"Please, love, fuck me. Fuck me so hard I can't remember my name. I want you to bury your cock so deep in my ass that I'll be feeling it for days. I'm so close, love, so close. Please, please, just let me come."

A feral growl ripped its way out of John's throat.

"As you wish."

Picking up the pace again, he slammed into the thinner man, finally releasing all his pent up frustration. His grip on the other's hips had to be bruising, but neither could even take notice. Jim's head was thrown back, silently screaming as he was finally able to get the release he desired. As his ass clenched around his lover, John, too, released hard inside the other man.

Panting, John collapsed next to Jim, shakily reaching up to undo his bindings. They lay in silence for several minutes, neither able to speak. From somewhere on the floor, a phone vibrated. John's, then. Jim's was never set to vibrate. It was short, too, so a text message. They both ignored it. A few more moments passed in bliss before a sharp knocking was heard from the front door.

"That'll be Sherlock, then."

John's voice was resigned, but Jim couldn't help the smirk that slipped onto his face. This hadn't been exactly what he'd planned when he let Mycroft follow him back to the apartment and set up cameras, but why not seize the opportunity to punish both him and John in one fell swoop? After all, no one makes Jim Moriarty beg and gets away with it.

"Oh, good. He'd just in time for round two…I do hope he remembered his riding crop this time."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Mycroft Holmes yanked the power cord out of the socket so fast he thought he may have permanently damaged something. He hadn't even been able to think about trying to find the power switch. He needed to stop the connection NOW. Horror had kept him watching through Moriarty and John's entanglement, but Sherlock…

He glanced back at the blank screens before him which had previously displayed a live feed of Jim Moriarty's apartment. It felt surreal, as though it had almost never happened. Actually, that was exactly right. Nothing happened tonight. He'd never been to this new apartment of Moriarty's. In fact, he didn't even know it existed.

As if to cement his decision, the elder Holmes poured himself a generous helping of scotch. A few more of those and he might even be able to convince himself.

A/N: Alrighty! So, that was interesting. You would not believe how hard this chapter was to write. I can hardly believe it. It just would not flow out of me. I promise the next one will be up much sooner, though!

Many of you participated in my challenge on the last chapter by inserting the work Mayan into your review. I was honestly surprised that almost everyone included it! Chret, however, was the first to review with the super-secret fun word included, so she got this chapter dedicated to her! Thank you again for all of the lovely review that have been sent my way! I cannot begin to say how much they mean to me!

I hope everyone enjoyed the smut in this chapter. I tried to change it up a little bit from what I had written before. For one, I let John top. I thought it would be a good way to show the trust that Jim has for our blonde doctor, as he is not one to easily give up control. I also thought this was a good way to get back at Mycroft for spying on the two. (Though when John finds out Jim knew…SOMEBODY'S GONNA BE IN TROUBLE~!) Would anyone like to see that backlash? If not, I'll skip right into Lestrade's revelation which, trust me, is by FAR the best. I've been looking forward to it since the first chapter.

Once again, if there is anything you'd like to see, just let me know! Right now, I am thinking that there will be about 10-12 installments of this fic, but it might stretch to be a bit longer. I love you all so much! Please review!

P.S. I promise the next chapter will be out much quicker.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Alright, so this chapter is the one I have most been looking forward to writing! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Mobile

"There must be something, something I missed…It's staring me in the face and I just can't see it!"

Sherlock made an angry noise as he paced in front of the board map that was on display in the middle of New Scotland Yard's Homicide Division. John and Lestrade stood a few feet away, watching. The Detective Inspector had called Sherlock that morning, mere moments after John had walked through the door from a night at Jim's. It'd been a long night, finally making up after the whole debacle with Mycroft. To say that John hadn't been pleased to find out that Jim had knowingly allowed them to be videotaped, and by Mycroft no less, would be an understatement. Needless to say, Jim hadn't been getting any since, even after he'd had a team sweep the apartment and remove any listening or video devices.

Lestrade's team had just found the third victim in a string of murders. Naturally, Sherlock had grabbed John and tore out of the flat. The victims were all regulars at a local night club. They were all male and appeared to have been drugged in the hours before their death. Sherlock had already figured out that they had known their attacker in some way. Most club goers, especially frequent ones in these times, knew to keep an eye on their drinks. No doubt, the attacker used the guise of helping them home before attacking them once the drug set in.

Lab results indicated that the drug was similar to GHP, but it had traces of some foreign substances that wouldn't normally be found in the drug. It hadn't taken Sherlock long to figure out that it was a new formula coming out of South America. The attacker must have been someone who had been there recently and was now manufacturing the drug here.

The victims had been brutally beaten and nearly ripped apart by the attacks. There were obvious markers of rage and lack of control. The bodies, however, were carefully disposed of and covered up so as not to be found right away. An attacker with that kind of clear headed thinking would be expected to have the loss of control to rip apart a human body, not to mention the amount of planning it would take to drug and abduct each victim. Interesting, indeed.

Some of Sherlock's old contacts would have more information on the drug, no doubt. If Sherlock called them, though, he was certain Mycroft would catch wind of it and assume the worst. His tedious meddling would be infuriating. The consulting detective fingered his phone in his pocket thoughtfully for a moment. No…He had no desire to deal with that.

"John. Phone."

The blonde startled out of his conversation with Lestrade.

"Sorry, what?"

"Your _phone,_ John. Come on, now. We haven't got all day. There's a killer on the loose, or haven't you heard?"

He knew he shouldn't take his irritation out on his flat mate, but it was hardly his fault he wasn't feeling overly patient with the doctor. After all, the other man had been gallivanting off with his arch-enemy. John had taken to spending 2.3 nights a week at the other's flat and other nights he wouldn't come home until early in the morning. The fact that Sherlock knew he was acting like a mother with their teenage child did nothing to stem his frustration.

At least John had made it a hard rule with Moriarty that he had to be available to go one cases. Sherlock hadn't been able to hold back his smile as he overheard that conversation. Besides, from John's behavior the past several days, Sherlock had derived some reassurance that their relationship wasn't totally rock solid. The consulting detective was well aware of the recent tension between the two and was only disappointed that it seemed to be resolving itself. Still, the two hadn't slept together the previous night, which was a good sign. It meant that Moriarty wasn't yet completely forgiven for his transgression. (And, really, it had to be Moriarty's fault, didn't it?)

As he watched John search one pocket of his trousers and then the other, Sherlock's mind deduced that the situation was far more grave than the three bodies in the morgue would suggest. With little hope for success, he watched as John searched his other pockets before the blonde turned to him. Sherlock was already digging out his own phone.

"You forgot your mobile. Oh, John, how could you be so _stupid_? I'd expect this kind of thing from Anderson, but not you!"

He could see the instant offended look on the other's face. Lestrade stepped forward to try and placate the genius, as was his way.

"Come on, now, Sherlock. Everyone forgets their phone every once in a while."

Sherlock, however, wasn't paying attention to the DI. Instead, he was shoving his own mobile at the ex-army doctor.

"Here, call him. Quickly. We probably don't have much time lef-" His sentence was cut off as the power went out, leaving only the natural light that filtered in through the windows for them to see by. As the Yarder's looked around in confusion, Sherlock could only hang his head. "Too late."

A shout drew their attention to Donovan who was looking at Anderson in horror. The forensic specialist had four little red dots highlighting his chest. One by one, more dots began appearing on the other occupants of the room. John glanced at Sherlock in what seemed a vain attempt to beg him that this was not happening. All hope was lost however, as a sing song voice rang out across the room.

"HI~! Jim Moriarty, for those who don't know."

The man himself strode through the Yard as though he were walking in the park, instead of holding an entire Division at gun point. Sebastian and three other guards flanked him, each carrying semi-automatics trained on the officers around them. They approached the group gathered around the board in the center of the room.

Sherlock let out a disgruntled sigh and turned back to the crime board. He did not have time for this, nor the patience. He could practically hear Moriarty grinning at him.

"Sherlock."

"Moriarty."

The criminal mastermind then approached Lestrade, who was obviously stressed out to the max. With snipers pointed at himself and the rest of his team, it would be hard not to be. Jim just smiled pleasantly as if he weren't the one to order those snipers.

"You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade! I've heard a lot about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, though I must say, your picture doesn't do you justice. You're taller in person. I love the whole silver fox thing you've got going for you."

He took the other's hand and shook it, appearing completely oblivious to the DI's discomfort and confusion. He'd moved on to the real reason he'd come.

"John…"

"_Jim._"

From the tension in his shoulders and his tone, it was obvious that the doctor was not pleased. Sherlock had to suppress a grin. He turned back to watch as Moriarty pulled a familiar black phone out of his pocket.

"You left this at the flat last night. I thought I'd come drop it off."

Sherlock saw the slight tick in John eyebrow before he ran a hand over his face. Forget what he thought earlier, this was going to be _good_.

"Jim…You can't just barge into New Scotland Yard and hold people at gunpoint! See, this is the kind of thing I was talking about."

Moriarty rolled his eyes and pouted.

"Well I couldn't just walk in. Seb would never allow it, security nightmare."

Here, Moran lifted a hand to wave at John. He held his gun almost lazily, though it didn't lessen the threat the weapon presented. Sherlock could easily tell that he was primed and ready to use it should the need arise. To his credit, his expression was a bit apologetic.

"Sorry, Cap. I couldn't just let him throw himself into the arms of NSY just to get you your phone back."

John heaved a sigh and pinched his nose, obviously trying very hard to keep a hold on his famous patience.

"Why couldn't you wait until I was home? Or at least not here! There was absolutely no need for you to storm the Yard."

For the first time since Sherlock had become aware of his existence, he saw Moriarty actually look offended. There were traces of other emotions in his expression, too; irritation, determination, protectiveness. The consulting detective rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going.

"No need? I assure you, John, there was every need."

There was no hint of amusement in his voice, nor did he use any of his various sing-song tones. That, more than anything else, displayed the seriousness of the situation. This did not however seem to faze John in the slightest. He crossed his arms gave Moriarty that stern look he usually reserved for when Sherlock had managed to blow something up or left blood stains on the kitchen table.

"And what, pray tell, makes it so perfectly necessary? Your need to flaunt everything in the public eye?"

Even Sherlock winced at that one. It was a low blow. John _must_ be angry. The younger Holmes hadn't tried to figure out what exactly had happened between the two that night a few weeks ago, mostly because he figured he didn't want to know and there was a case to solve. (A fascinating one, too, involving a sea otter and a hedgehog.) Now, though, he was decidedly interested in figuring out what could take John to this level of rage. He hadn't even been this mad the time Sherlock had used his favorite sweater to test the strength of various acids.

Moriarty opened his mouth to retort angrily back before shutting it sharply and casting a glance around the room. No one had said a word, too caught up in watching this display. Clearly, none of them had yet figured out that Jim and John were having a relationship. Idiots. Sherlock noted, though, that Lestrade was starting to put the pieces together. It was times like this that reminded him why the DI was the only one he could stand to work with from the Yard on a regular basis.

When Moriarty spoke again, it was much quieter.

"I don't want to have this conversation here."

"Well then, maybe you shouldn't have barged into _New Scotland Yard _to drop off my _mobile_. You wanted attention, Jim? Well now you've bloody got it. Please, tell us all what was so bloody important about the phone that it couldn't wait."

At this point, Moran and the other guards were looking distinctly uncomfortable. No doubt this was the first time they had heard anyone talk to their boss in such a way. Well, at the very least it was the first time it had happened without that person being immediately eviscerated. Furthermore, it was certainly the first time they had seen him _nervous_. Indeed, the man looked almost cowed against John's irritation. He shifted from one foot to the other, not looking John in the eye.

"You."

Whatever John had been expecting, it clearly wasn't that. His shoulders jerked as though he'd taken a physical blow and his head drew back as if to put space between himself and the statement.

"What?"

Drawing himself up again, Jim returned eye contact.

"I don't like the thought that I wouldn't be able to contact you directly, or that you wouldn't be able to contact me. Sherlock and I live in very dangerous worlds, often by our own choosing. I have my entire network to protect me. Sherlock has Mycroft, not to mention his sheer force of will which, by the way, I'm pretty sure could stop a bullet. But you go gallivanting off of these wild escapades, often without a thought to your own safety and you're more concerned with keeping Sherlock safe than watching your own back. That time at the pool, when I kidnapped you and put you in a bomb jacket, you grabbed me and told Sherlock to get out. Had it been someone else, had I not already thought of that outcome, you could have died…I don't like the thought of you in situations like that. So I need you to have your mobile on you." Here his voice petered out again, regaining a more hushed tone. "That way you can call me…you know, if you need me. I just…I worry."

John was now gaping at the Irishman in front of him, at an utter loss for words. Sherlock, however, just rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time during this encounter and started to turn away. He'd never expected Moriarty to fall so low. _Sentiment_.

"Bloody Hell…" The moment was broken as all eyes snapped to Lestrade. "You two are sleeping together!"

A wicked grin split Jim's face before he grabbed John by the collar and yanked him forward for a searing kiss. His hand snaked down to slip the other's phone into his back pocket, taking the opportunity to give him a squeeze on the arse. When he finally broke away, his men had regained their control and were holding their weapons at the Yarders again.

"I'll see you tonight. We have some making up to do."

The mad man winked at the doctor before sauntering to the door. Pausing on the threshold, he turned back as though he'd just remembered something.

"You're right, though. I do love the attention. Later, love! Hope you all enjoyed the laser pointers!"

As if on cue, all the red dots disappeared and the door swung shut.

A/N: So what'd you all think? Please feel free to let me know! Next chapter will feature Mrs. Hudson and hopefully some crime scene shenanigans! (I love Jim) If there is anything anyone would like to see in coming chapters, please just include it in your review! We have reached the point in this fic where I will be catering more to the requests of my audience. 3 See you next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Aha! Another chapter out! I hope you all enjoy it! This one is actually a grouping of smaller little chapters. Mostly fluff with plot development.

Sentiment

When John woke up, it was slow and languid. He snuggled into his pillow, thinking perhaps to savor the morning. It had been a while since he'd had the chance to sleep in. Between Sherlock, the clinic, and Jim, it was a wonder he slept in at all. Sudden panic made him shoot up into a sitting position.

Oh, God…Jim…The man had been at the flat last night. He'd come over as soon as Sherlock had cleared up the last of the details on the club case. The two had arrived home to find Jim Moriarty sitting in their flat, having tea with Mrs. Hudson. Their elderly landlady and the criminal mastermind sat side by side, laughing amiably. They both paused as the two entered and Mrs. Hudson all but jumped up to greet them.

"Sherlock, John! Welcome back, boys. I take it the case went well?"

"What is _he_ doing here?"

Pointedly ignoring their landlady's greeting, Sherlock stormed forward to tower above the grinning man on the couch. Mrs. Hudson just huffed at his antics and sidled over to John.

"Quite a charming young man you've caught there, dearie. We were just having the most lovely chat. Jim promised to share his strawberry scone recipe with me. Isn't that sweet?"

The older woman seemed completely unperturbed by the storm cloud that was Sherlock Holmes. The man glared down at Jim, who was still sipping his tea on the couch. Jim, to his credit, didn't seem to have a problem ignoring said man. Instead, he focused his attention on the doctor across the room.

"You can ask Seb, I make the best strawberry scones in London. It's my grandmother's recipe. Besides, I consider it a completely fair trade for the promise of Mrs. Hudson's tea biscuit recipe." He picked another one up off the plate in front of him and took a bite. "How do you get them this flaky? You're a miracle worker. You have to be."

Mrs. Hudson tutted, but anyone with an eye and a heartbeat would've been able to see how pleased she was with the compliment. Living with Sherlock, you learned to take compliments where you could get them.

"It's all in how you fold the dough, dearie. You're welcome to join me when I bake a new batch next Monday. I don't know about you, but I've always found that hands on is the best way to learn a new recipe."

Grinning whole heartedly, Jim winked at John.

"Dr. Watson! You should have told me you lived with a genius!"

The blonde had to smother a laugh as he though Sherlock's head might explode. Truly, the only thing missing was steam coming out of his ears. Ever the peacekeeper, though, John thought it would be a good time to step in.

"C'mon, Jim. Why don't we head upstairs? We've got a lot to talk about it and I'm sure Sherlock would like to work on the case in peace."

Jim hummed in agreement and moved around the stewing genius to deliver a kiss to John.

"I would like nothing more."

They had gone upstairs, talked, and proceeded to have mind blowing sex before falling asleep. Now he'd woken up to discover he was alone in bed…which meant Sherlock and Jim had been unsupervised…together…Oh, dear God. What had he let happen?

Years of military service had him out of bed and pulling on pants before he had even fully woken up. He was halfway down the stairs before it occurred to him and Jim may have just been called away on business and there wasn't a disaster waiting for his attention. His hopes for that particular outcome, however, were dashed when he heard voices from the living room. The scene he walked in on, however, was not the one he had been expecting.

Jim and Sherlock sat on either side of the coffee table, a map spread out between them. They were enthusiastically marking things on the map, Jim with a red marker and Sherlock with black, while measuring the distance between each mark. As John went to step further into the room, Sherlock threw down his marker.

"It's impossible then. There's no way a single individual would have time to collect all 58 in under 3 hours."

Jim shook his head, brow creasing, and pointed to something on the map John couldn't make out.

"What if they used this corridor instead of Belleview St? I had to arrange a mugging there just 2 years ago and there is a side alley that cuts between these two buildings. It's not shown on the map but it would completely eliminate the foot traffic nuisance of Belleview."

Sherlock shot to his feet, manic grin spread wide across his face.

"Jim, that genius! You have solved the issue!" Whirling, he grabbed his coat and scarf, throwing them on as the two finally took notice of John standing awkwardly in the doorway. "About time you got up. I have to go pick up a few things, do try and make sure you and Jim don't blow up the flat while I'm gone."

And then he was gone, a hurricane barreling out the door and into the streets of London. John just turned to look at his lover, who gave him the most unhelpful comment of, "Otters," like that explained everything. John decided he'd leave it for another time.

"Were you two getting on, then? I was afraid I was going to come downstairs to find you two had killed each other."

Jim scoffed, pushing John to sit at the table and bustling around in the kitchen as though it were second nature.

"Oh, life was so dreadfully _boring_ before I met Sherlock. I simply couldn't resist starting up a game with him. And, really, who could blame me? But now I'm not bored anymore, so there's no need for such a senseless rivalry. Though, really, I was going to win all along."

As Jim spoke, he retrieved eggs and bacon from the refrigerator that John hadn't even known were in there. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the sound of sizzling. John watched his lover busy himself at the stove and smiled.

"I didn't know you could cook."

"I've been doing it since I was a kid. Helps me relax."

It wasn't long before a heaping plate of food was set down before the doctor, who dug in eagerly.

"This is amazing, Jim! Seriously."

The mastermind grinned.

"Well, since this was the first time we'd had a romp at your place, which was lovely by the way, I thought it only appropriate I make you breakfast." A pout briefly took over his face. "Granted, I'd intended to do breakfast in bed and have round two as dessert…but Sherlock distracted me."

"Well, I always say it's never too late to go back to bed…"

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

Sherlock flung the tails of his coat backwards as he crouched next to the victim and Lestrade couldn't help but roll his eyes. Really? Did he have to be so bloody dramatic about everything? A glance sideways at John revealed the doctor to be having similar thoughts, if his bemused grin was anything to go by.

"She's divorced…twice now, but still looking for husband number three. Public accountant in a steady relationship. He treats her badly but she never says anything. I'd say they've been together…8 months. She was thinking about marriage. He was thinking about the girl at the local pub. He was planning to leave her. Find the boyfriend. He's who did it. Honestly, I don't know why you even bothered to call me."

Lestrade grit his teeth, his earlier amusement long gone.

"Maybe it's your sparkling personality. How do you know the boyfriend did it?"

They all jumped at the voice that descended from the heavens.

"Oh, come now. It's _obvious_."

Grinning down at them from a fire escape was none other than Jim Moriarty. Great. This was just what Lestrade bloody needed. He didn't get paid enough for this.

"Thought I'd drop by. Hi~!"

The prat had the nerve to do a little finger wave down at them. Sherlock was probably the first to get over the shock, but since he chose to ignore the man and turn back to his phone, John will get the credit for the fastest recovery.

"Jim? What are you doing here? And why are you up the fire escape?"

Here Sherlock did interject, but only with a long-suffered huff, the same one he gave when someone missed something he found particularly obvious. Jim, on the other hand, remained his chipper self.

"I came to see you of course! I was in the neighborhood on some other business and decided it'd be nice to stop by! Obviously, the police wouldn't have let me through the tape so I had to take the roof!" Here he turned his focus to the detective inspector, face serious. "I'm afraid your officers have a severe security problem. Anyone could get into this crime scene."

"Yeah. I can see that…"

"Might want to get it looked into then. Sorry. I know Sherlock is the police consultant but what can I say? I love helping people and some habits can be _so_ hard to break…"

Swinging down from his perch, the man landed deftly before them. He wasted no time in giving John a 'hello' peck on the lips. Donovan, who had until that moment been standing there slack jawed, like most of them, chose that moment to regain her voice.

"Oh, no. As if one freak wasn't bad enough. What is it with you, Watson? Did you put an ad in the paper or something? Or do freaks usually just flock to you?"

Lestrade saw how both men instantly stiffened, Jim probably even more so than John. He closed his eyes and wished for not the first time that his sergeant would learn when to just keep that damn mouth _shut_. As Jim turned to face the woman, his smile did nothing to diminish the threatening aura around him.

"You must be Sergeant Sally Donovan…I believe congratulations are in order." A pause. "You have just landed yourself on a very short list of individuals I would happily kill with my own hands…Lucky for you, Johnny-boy here disapproves of such behavior. Otherwise, rest assured I would have no problem with gutting you like the pig you are. Next time you think about attempting to insult my John…Don't."

Silence reigned in the alley as Jim glared in the direction of the offending woman. Lestrade didn't know what to do. Technically, he'd just threatened an officer, but what was the point of arresting the man? With his connections he'd be out of jail and in the wind in no time. Besides, Donavan did have it coming. Sherlock only glanced up briefly from his mobile during the whole exchange.

"Really, Jim, you shouldn't acknowledge them. It's like feeding the animals, it only encourages their bad behavior." Pocketing his phone he swept past the stunned officers and held up the tape at the edge of the scene. "I think we're done here. John and I were going for lunch at Angelo's. Care to join us, Jim?"

Like a flash, the energetic, sing-song Irishman was back. He linked his fingers with John's and tugged the doctor forward.

"Love to."

There were just turning to leave when Sherlock himself turned back and pierced Donovan with a glare.

"Oh, and one more thing, sergeant, my sex life does not depend on John's approval of my actions. I suggest you keep that in mind whenever you open your mouth next."

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"I have a surprise for you."

John looked up from his computer to see Jim bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. It was moments like these he sometimes forgot just what the man was capable of. The two had been going out for a little over six months now and it had gotten to the point where Jim was spending more and more time at Baker St. Lestrade didn't even seem surprised anymore when he would burst through the door and find two consulting geniuses instead of one. (He did, however, seem grateful that Jim didn't tend to take much interest in the cases.)

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you."

Jim instead pulled the doctor out of his chair and began ushering him out of the flat.

"It won't be ready for a few hours, so you'll have to leave. Don't worry! Seb is waiting out front. He's going to take you to the shooting range so you can bond over manly things and war stories or some such. He's been talking about it all week!"

John's eyebrows rose at this. Apparently, this was a pretty big surprise if he was being forced to leave the flat for it. Sebastian was, indeed, waiting for him on Baker St, which was probably a good thing since Jim had all but slammed the door after shoving him through it. The Colonel's smirk told John that he was apparently the only one out of the loop.

"Any chance I'm going to get you to tell me what's going on?"

"Not a chance, Captain. I'm afraid I signed a non-disclosure agreement when Jim hired me."

John just rolled his eyes at the joke and gestured for them to get going. On the plus side, going to the shooting range was never a disappointing turn of events. He could always use the extra practice.

Hours later, exhausted and satisfied with their day, John and Sebastian returned to Baker St. It had been nice to catch up with each other without the added pressure of Jim or Sherlock calling one of them away at any given moment. Moran had been impressed by how much skill John still displayed with a handgun, a high compliment from an army sniper. They'd swapped only war stories and reminisced about the mischief they'd gotten up to in their army days. (Like the time Moran had dyed a cadet blue or when John hidden all of his commanding officer's shoes.) All in all, John had almost completely forgotten about Jim's promised surprise.

Sherlock was lounging on the couch when the two entered, typing away on John's computer. It looked like he hadn't moved in hours. John headed for the kitchen and gestured towards the chairs, indicating Moran should take one.

"Care for a cuppa?"

"Sure. I'll be able to stick around for a bit longer before heading back to work. Can't trust those monkeys to get anything done without me."

The two laughed, Moran having spent some of their time together griping about the incompetence of several of the individuals working for him. ("And so then he tells me he didn't even look at the file to know who the target was!") John fixed their teas and they talked amiably for several minutes before Sherlock snapped the computer shut and stood, turning to look at John very seriously.

"Mrs. Hudson was looking for you."

"Um, okay? Do you know what she wanted?"

The genius shrugged, still towering over the seated man as though he were ready to leave at any moment. (Which was ridiculous because he was still in his dressing gown…but John _had_ seen him go out in worse.)

"She needed your help with something, seemed rather urgent."

"Uh, alright then."

John shrugged and stood. Obviously, Sherlock wanted him to find out what Mrs. Hudson needed help with immediately. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have even gotten the message. Moran stood with him and soon the three were outside Mrs. Hudson's door, the small hallway starting to feel decidedly crowded. The landlady opened the door almost immediately.

"Oh, John, dear! I didn't hear you come back!" She sent a quick glance at Sherlock who nodded tightly. "I was wondering if I could get you to take a look at something for me."

Alright, now John was starting to get suspicious. This behavior was definitely odd. Just what were these two up to? None the less, he dutifully followed Mrs. Hudson to the door of 221C, listening as she prattled on about how much help he always was. Sherlock and Moran still trailed behind.

The flat was dark when he stepped inside, something he remembered from his last visit, too. His hand groped the wall in an attempt to find the switch. Shuffling behind him told him the others were following him in. Flipping the lights on, he was momentarily blinded. He blinked rapidly to regain his sight.

"What…"

221C had been completely transformed. The previously dank, basement-like flat had new floors and the walls had been repapered. The whole place smelled of dark wood and leather. One entire wall had been converted into bookshelves, all full. In the middle of the room, sipping a cup of tea and relaxing on the leather couch as though he'd always been there, was Jim Moriarty.

"Do you like it?"

"Jim, what is this?"

Through the doorway at the other end of the room, John could make out the kitchen. It was completely renovated and state of the art. How the Hell had Jim managed this in one day? The man in questing set his tea down before coming over to join them. It struck him that the others had to have been in on this…_Sherlock_ had been in on this.

"Do you remember our conversation two weeks ago? I asked you to move in." John nodded, not sure where this was going. He'd told Jim no. He'd _wanted_ to move in with the man, but he couldn't leave Sherlock. "Well, this is my compromise!" He gestured around the flat.

"You're moving in here?"

A nod.

"To Baker Street?"

Another nod.

"Jim, I…"

The mastermind's grin was starting to slip. His question was clear on his face. 'I thought you'd be happy. Why aren't you happy?' Sherlock, though, had apparently had enough.

"Oh, for God's sake…Jim will take 221C and you'll continue living with me upstairs. You two will be able to continue your foolish displays of sentiment without the inconvenience of have to trek half-way across London when one of you has to go home. Just shut up and kiss him already, John."

While the doctor wasn't normally one to take Sherlock's advice, he thought now would be a good time to do just that. His grin was nearly splitting his face when he finally gave Jim the room to breath.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Sentiment."

A/N: There we go! I hope you all liked it. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about this one, but I think it's good. The next couple of installments will be a bit darker than my previous ones, so be warned!

If there is anything you'd like to see happen, please send me a message! I love to get suggestions and hear what people want. It often leads to some of my best chapters. (In my opinion, of course.)

Also, depending on my inspiration, I may be writing a short one-shot between now and when I post the next chapter, so it may be a bit longer than normal. (Also, I'm moving.) Hopefully I will have them both out soon, though! I will include the title of the one-shot in my next post! I hope you all will check it out!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: And here we are once again! I have to admit a great amount of pride for this chapter! It is the longest to date by almost double! As the title might suggest, this IS a multipart chapter, though I do not yet know if it will be three or four parts. (I have some questions at the end, if y'all don't mind.)

ALSO SUPER IMPORTANT! This chapter is dedicated to Hiromi, my brand new coworker and the first person I have met in person who loves Sherlock almost as much as I do! She is my muse and generally wonderful!

Gone-Part 1

"I'm glad we did this. Honestly, it's been great being about to spend time with someone who _gets it_."

John raised his pint to clink with Moran's in a toast. He couldn't agree with the colonel's sentiment more. Dealing with both Sherlock and Jim was…overwhelming at times, especially when the two were together. John figured Moran was the only person who understood the pains of the day to day. (That wasn't to say he didn't love both geniuses, one as a best friend and the other as quite a bit more.)

"To making it through another day."

"And making sure our geniuses do, too."

John snorted into his pint at that.

"The saddest part is that the biggest danger comes from themselves! Did I tell you about the time I had to save Sherlock from drowning? In the _bathtub_."

"Oh, God. Don't tell me it was another one of his experiments."

"When is it anything _but_ one of his experiments?"

Moran smiled and made a 'go ahead' gesture.

"Alright, so I've spent the last 10 hours filling in at the clinic because not one but two doctors have called out. There's been a rash of the flu and every parent in London has brought their child in. I have dealt with irate parents, handled screaming children, and been thrown up on four times. All I want is a nice, quiet evening."

"Good luck with that," the mercenary muttered, to which John couldn't help but agree.

"Well, I get back to the flat and at first, I think there's nobody home, right? I call out to Sherlock, who's usually sulking in the living room, but I don't get a response. It was odd, cause if he'd gotten a case, he would have come to the clinic and dragged me into it, it wouldn't have been the first time. But I decide, hey, why look gift horses in the mouth?"

"He's really come to the clinic? What does he say? 'Oh, sorry. I've got to borrow Dr. Watson for a bit, seems there's been an axe murder in Sussex and I know he'd _hate_ to miss out.'"

John snorted again. At this rate, he was going to end up with his pint coming out of his nose, an embarrassment he hadn't suffered since Uni.

"Nothing so straightforward, though I wouldn't put it past him. He keeps coming up with these ridiculous stories. One time, he said my great aunt had died by being eaten by otters and he had to make sure I didn't hear about it on the news."

"Eaten? By otters?"

John had his head in his hands, unable to even look Moran in the eye.

"I was getting sympathy flowers from my coworkers for two weeks. They still avoid using the word 'otter' around me. Sebastian, I don't even _have_ a great aunt."

Now Sebastian was laughing, much to John's further misery. Once he'd calmed down, he grinned cheekily at his former captain.

"Alright, so Sherlock wasn't at the flat when you got back."

"He didn't _seem_ to be. I didn't realize he was there until I went to take a shower and found him face down in the tub, which had about an inch of water in it. This is not to mention the fact that the entire bloody bathroom is covered in _nail polish_."

"…you're joking."

"Believe me, I wish I were. Apparently, he'd decided to test how many bottles of nail polish it would take to get someone high enough to lose all awareness. He was barely conscious when I pulled him out of the tub. Not twenty seconds later, though, he'd all aware and hyper. He tried to use the nail polish as face paint."

Now Moran was laughing again, John right along with him. The blonde went on to explain Sherlock's very single-minded determination to paint all of John's hair pink because, 'it would make him look pretty and he had to be pretty to meet the Queen.' (The Queen, John later found out, was Mycroft, who had told Sherlock that morning he would be stopping by.)

By this point, tears were in the gunman's eyes and the pair were getting looks from the other patrons. Desperately trying to get ahold of themselves, the two attempted to smother their laughter behind their hands. Several minutes later, Moran grinned toothily at his friend.

"Have I told you about the time Jim spent three days convinced that there was a plot by his enemies to kill him using rubber duckies?"

"Like the bath toy?"

And so they went for the next several hours, trading stories back and forth. It reminded John fondly of when he would get together with the other veterans he knew and they would talk about Afghanistan. He liked this a little better, though, because it gave him things to tease Jim about later.

Their fun came to an end, though, when a red headed man burst into the pub. He was well built, clearly used to being in altercations. After a quick sweep of the room with his eyes, he headed straight for their table. Moran had tensed the moment the man had entered the room, losing any hint of cheer that's previously been displayed on his face. In response, John shifted his weight so as to be ready for a fight. However, the man stopped several feet from their table and addressed Moran.

"Uh, sir, I hate to say this but there was a, uh, security breech at the meeting."

If the mercenary hadn't been tense before, he sure as hell was now. It did nothing to ease John's own tension. What meeting?

"What exactly do you mean, a '_security breech_'?"

These were the moments when John remembered exactly what it was his friend did for a living. His face was all hard lines and savage fury, his eyes promising pain if he didn't get the answers he was looking for. The red head shifted nervously, an oddity, when coupled with his bulky figure and previously intimidating air.

"Well, um, sir, it seems the, uh, negotiations didn't go quite as, well, planned."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed and he slapped some notes down on the table, plenty enough to cover both his own and John's tab.

"Outside. Now."

Clearly, Moran was done with this man's poor excuse for subtlety. He needed straight answers and he needed them now. John couldn't say he felt much different. It didn't take a genius to realize that something had gone south with one of Jim's…projects and, knowing Jim, he was right in the middle of it. The group moved out of the pub and into the back alley, specifically chosen for its lack of CCTV. Once they were out of the public eye, Sebastian rounded on his employee.

"I'm going to ask one last time. What exactly do you mean, a '_security breech_'?"

"The meeting was set up exact how you said, sir! I did everything you taught me, I swear! We had men on every entry and had three snipers in the rafters! But they overwhelmed us! There were three of them to every one of us! Only three of us even made it out of there!"

Now Moran was deathly still.

"Where's Jim?"

"W-well, I…"

"Marcus, where the _fuck_ is _Jim_?!"

_That_ caught John's attention.

"I-I don't know! His body wasn't with the others that got left behind! I think they must have taken him with them! I came as soon as I could!"

"What?"

For the first time, the red head seemed to notice John's presence, being too previously focused on suffering his superior's wrath. He should have known better than to think Moran was the biggest threat.

"His _body_?"

Suddenly, the doctor was gone and the only John Watson standing in that alley was the soldier, the killer, the crack shot. He'd once told Sherlock that he had bad days. Suffice it to say he was now having a _very _bad day. The henchman glanced at Sebastian as if to ask who John was, but the mercenary only had eyes for the blonde. He knew that look from when he'd been in John's unit back in Afghanistan.

John nailed the man, Marcus, down with a cold glare that could have peeled flesh right off of bone.

"Tell me everything**. **_**Now**__._"

And Marcus did.

The meeting had been in the works for only a couple days, as it was in response to a hurried message from one of the groups Jim had previously been involved with, a human trafficking ring from South Africa. They'd been one of the projects Jim had dropped after establishing a relationship with John. Though the man hadn't pulled out of the crime circuit and was still, without a doubt, the king of the underworld, he'd stopped supporting many of his less savory clients since he'd known John wouldn't approve.

Many of these clients, though, had been less than please to learn that Jim would no longer be there to help them. Some had quickly declared their intention to end the man. (A declaration which meant that they, themselves, were quickly ended instead.) Instead of such petty threats, this particular client had asked for a meeting with Jim to make a case to keep his support.

More due to sheer boredom than anything else, Jim had agreed. He never had any intention of giving them back his support, but it would help fill and hour or so of his day. Moran had been against the idea of not being there for the meeting, but Jim had insisted it would be fine. Instead, the mastermind had pushed him to go out with John, leaving his own safety in clearly incompetent hands.

The group had made their move as soon as it was confirmed that Jim was actually at the meeting. Sacrificing the men they had inside, the trafficking ring had agents storm the building, killing anyone they came across. Though no one had actually seen the abduction, Jim was out of contact and hadn't been seen since the incident. The entire warehouse had been searched and there was still no sign of him.

As the tale came to a close, Moran shot a glance at John and almost had to take a step back. He'd never seen the normally easy going man look so…ferocious, not even back during the war. The hardened criminal/soldier/sniper couldn't stop the shiver of fear that ran down his spine. He could only be relieved that the terrifying anger wasn't directed at him. Marcus, however, wasn't so lucky…

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"What the _hell_ do you mean, you won't help?"

Jim and John stood in the living room of 221B Baker St, having left behind a thoroughly traumatized Marcus. Really, the man would probably never fully recover. Perhaps under different circumstances, Moran would have felt sorry for him, but as things stood…

Sherlock just glared at the two from over his microscope, completely ignoring John's anger.

"I would have thought it was obvious. I mean I have no intention of running about the city looking for Jim when I absolutely must get these samples analyzed. A man's alibi depends on it, John. Frankly, I don't see what there is to be upset about, anyway."

"No, of course not! It's only that Jim's bloody missing and God knows what is happening to him! I thought you two were finally getting along!"

At this point, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Now what's all this yelling about, then? I don't think I've ever heard you two have such a row!"

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes before trying to explain the situation to the older woman. The last thing he needed to do right now was snap at her.

"Jim is in danger, life threatening danger. He disappeared a few hours ago when a business meeting went south. No one has seen or heard from his since and Sherlock _refuses_ to help."

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, come on!" The detective's entire body exuded exasperation. "This whole thing is ridiculous! These samples are important!" He glared at them petulantly, as though they were inconveniencing him on purpose, just for the sake of it.

"Sherlock _Joseph_ Holmes!"

Everyone in the room jumped. None of them had ever heard such a…reprehending tone from the landlady before. Even Sherlock looked askance, though that may have been due to the use of his middle name. Hands on hips, Mrs. Hudson stared down the genius and made it clear that there would be no arguments against her.

"I have seen you do a lot of selfish things, but this is just too far! I have never seen you turn your back on someone in need and now you are doing it for some soil samples? I am _ashamed_ of you!"

"But-"

"Don't you 'but' me! Jim needs you, Sherlock, and, so help me, you are going to help! Don't make me get rid of your skull!"

Now Sherlock was on his feet, too.

"Jim wouldn't want my help!" The other three paused. "Obviously, he's been kidnapped by one of his disgruntled ex-clients. If he was worried about what might happen, he wouldn't have allowed his security to be run by some second-rate henchman."

"But something _did_ happen."

"Yes, yes, John, but not something he was worried about. The kidnappers obviously aren't planning to kill him straight out, that much is clear right off the bat. Besides, there's nothing Jim would love more than you riding off to save him, even from some petty excuse for a criminal like this. Really, it should be easy enough for the two of you to solve on your own."

As he talked, the man had moved across the room and was now holding his skull protectively to his chest, as though to shield it. He sniffed haughtily.

"Now, why don't you two go do something useful and take a look and the crime scene like good white knights? I'm sure that will turn up something to help you along."

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John had to admit, even without Jim around to tell them what to do, his organization moved with impressive efficiency. When he and Sebastian arrived at the warehouse in which the meeting was supposed to take place, it looked just like any of the others in the area. A team had come and removed all traces of blood and bodies. Initially, John had worried that this clean up could affect the integrity of the scene, but Moran assured him that they knew how to get the job done without disturbing anything else.

Several members of Jim's network still hung around in the area, keeping an eye out for any enemies who might stupidly return to the scene and making sure John and Sebastian were safe. None of them really knew who John was, but it was instantly clear that he was someone of great importance. Hell, even Moran deferred to him.

The two ex-soldiers circled the area, inside and out, looking for any sign of what might have happened. It was John to found the first clue. He immediately shouted for Moran, who showed up moments later. Scuff marks in the dirt showed where a body was dragged, but the pattern made it clear that it wasn't without a struggle. About ten yards down the path, they found a silver cufflink in a clump of weeds.

It was definitely Jim's.

They kept up the search for a few more feet and found tire treads, leading out of the alley and onto the road. Looking up, John caught site of a CCTV camera pointed down the alley, with the perfect angle to catch the vehicle's plates.

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"Dr. Watson, what a pleasure to hear from you."

"Hello, Mycroft. I'm afraid this isn't a social call."

"Of course not. Surely if you were just looking for someone to chat with, you wouldn't have called _me_. Tell me, what has my brother done now?"

"Actually, this isn't about your brother, either."

"Ah, Jim, then? I suppose you want access to the CCTV footage."

"How did-Actually, never mind. I don't want to know. Will you give us access? I need the camera from Dromage Street."

"To be honestly, Dr. Watson, I see absolutely no reason why I should…"

"What? I don't know, maybe because we need your help?"

"Jim Moriarty is a very dangerous man and there is no love lost between the two of us. Personally, I think the world would be a much safer place were something to happen to him."

"You _bloody sod-_"

"Hello? This is Moran. It's seems you've upset John."

"Yes, it would seem so."

"I don't much like that, and neither would my employer."

"From the sound of things, your employer isn't someone I really need to be worrying about much longer."

"Ah, I see. You're more like us than you probably like to believe, Mr. Holmes."

"Nonsense."

"No, it's true. John doesn't get how men like us work, how our worlds operate. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what do you think of the value of a favor? Cause helping save his life. Well, Jim could end up owing you a pretty big one, couldn't he?"

"…You'll have your footage within the hour."

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The still shot Mycroft had sent them was of a white paneled van, license plate clearly visible. Moran had sent the plate number to one of his people and five minutes later they had a name and address. Though John had recognized the name, he didn't realize he actually knew the van's owner until the door to the townhouse they were in front of opened.

"Dr. Watson? What are you doing here?"

The woman was small and mousy, gray haired but colored with blonde. She wore a yellow dress and had on an apron, obviously in the middle of baking. She and her husband were regulars at the clinic and the van was his work truck. John had to have seen it a dozen times.

"Mrs. McCarthy, I'm so sorry to intrude. Is Richard in? We really need to speak with him."

At the question, she seemed to deflate. Stepping back from the door, she motioned them inside.

"I haven't seen Rich since late last night. I'm afraid he's turned back to that filth drug again!"

Tears brimmed in her eyes and John instinctively moved to comfort her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he guided her to sit on the over-stuffed sofa in the living room. He sat beside her and Moran took the armchair opposite, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. They shared a look over Mrs. McCarthy's head before John turned back to his patient.

"Tell me exactly what happened. What makes you think he's gone back?"

"We were getting ready for bed last night when Rich gets this phone call. I couldn't make out what was being said, but the voice on the other end sounded scary, real deep and gravely. The conversation couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes and then Rich said he had to go! I asked him why, but he wouldn't tell me! He just told me there was something he had to do and I wouldn't understand. Oh, Dr. Watson, he tried so hard to get clean the first time, I don't understand why he would go back! And he was scared! I could tell!"

She put her face in her hands, quietly crying, and John rubbed gentle circles on his back. He'd always been good at comforting people. Moran, on the other hand, looked distinctly uncomfortable just being in the same room as a crying woman.

"Mrs. McCarthy, do you have any idea where he could have gone? Did he mention a part of town or anything?"

Wiping her eyes and standing, the woman grabbed a pad of paper from beside the phone. Handing it to John, he saw an address written on blue ball point.

"He pressed down so hard when he was writing it that it was easy to do over what he'd written. I wanted to make sure I had it in case….well, in case I needed it. You'll help him, won't you, Dr. Watson? Rich has always been so fond of you. I know he'll listen to you!"

"I'll do the best I can."

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A quick search among Jim's contacts revealed the address to belong to a seedy warehouse. In truth, it was only a cover for a hardcore drug and prostitution club. It was the kind of place where anything went and no one asked where the girls came from…or where they went. John didn't understand why an average middle aged man, even one suffering from a drug addiction, would go to such a place. There were much easier, safer ways to get ahold of a fix. And how did it lead to his van being used in Jim's kidnapping?

With one last glance up and down the empty street, John and Sebastian entered the drug den. It was almost 4 in the afternoon by the time they had managed to find the place. Even the front room was filled with smoke and John had to fight back a grimace at the thought of what the rest of the establishment must be like. There was a single door on the opposite wall, a guard stationed on either side. Neither spoke as they approached, but it was clear John and Moran wouldn't just be allowed through.

"Keith sent us, sends his regards. He said he can't wait for the game on Tuesday. It should be quite a show."

The guards nodded and pushed a button by the door, sending the message through to unlock it. It was luckily they'd found someone in Jim's network with the current passcode for the den or they would have had to force their way in, which could have gone quite poorly. Passing through the door, John had to force down a horrified expression at the underworld they had crossed into.

Ratty, stained furniture was scattered about the room, about a dozen or so forms were scattered across them. Many of the room's occupants appeared almost boneless, clearly in the grips of some drug or another, most likely heroin. A burly man drifted throughout the large room, keeping an eye on the addicts and collecting any stray needles. With him was a small man carrying an old doctor's bag, obviously the drug supplier for this venue. The body guard cast a wary eye over John and Moran, neither of them carried themselves like they were seeking a fix.

Ignoring the man, John let his eyes sweep the room in search of Richard. It didn't take long to find the man huddled in an armchair covered with stains he didn't even want to think about. A needle was clutched in one hand, but the doctor was glad to see it was full. If the man was sober, it'd be much easier to get information out of him.

He moved across the room, letting Moran cut off the bodyguard as he approached. They'd both agreed that violence should be a last resort, but neither would be shy about using it if necessary. Distantly, John heard Moran launch into a lecture, reprimanding the man about the lack of security. Coupled with his natural air of authority, it was seconds before the drug dealer and the guard were eating out of his hands.

John crouched in front of Richard, drawing his attention for the first time. Surprise and confusion colored the man's face and his hand jerked as if you hide the needle. It took only a moment for John to ease it from his grasp.

"Dr. Watson?"

"Your wife is worried about you, Richard."

"How did you find me?"

"You didn't exactly do a very good job of keeping it a secret. Martha was able to copy the indentions left by your pen on the notepad by the phone. I thought you wanted to stay clean."

"I did…I never wanted to turn back to this life, but he…He said I didn't have a choice."

"The man on the phone? Who is he?"

Richard just shook his head, eyes darting to where John and lay the needle on the floor. John shifted to block his view of it.

"Richard, I need you to listen to me. I need your help?"

The surprise and confusion were back, sharper now.

"My help? With what?"

"Your car was used in a crime earlier today."

Now Richard jerked back as though he had suffered a physical blow, eyes wide and head shaking.

"I didn't want to! You have to believe me! I never knew what they wanted until they dragged that man into the back of my van! Please, Dr. Watson!" He was leaning forward again, as if the proximity would give his please more power.

"So you were driving?"

The ex-junkie's eyes darted around the room, lingering on the bulky man still talking to Moran. His shoulders shook from need for the drug and obvious fear. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Richard, I need you to tell me what you know."

"I-I can't!"

"Look at me, Richard." Reluctantly, the man did. "That man who they dragged into your van? His name is Jim."

Richard moaned and shook his head. He didn't want to hear this, but John was unrelenting. Richard was no criminal and he could only hope an appeal to his humanity would help.

"Jim is one of the most important people in my life. Remember when I told you and Martha I had met someone during your last check up? That was Jim."

The older man's eyes were shiny with tears and he was muttering denials.

"I love him, Richard. Please, help me."

The denials had turned to apologies.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Watson! I'm so sorry! I didn't know! I would never have done it! Please, please forgive me!"

"It's alright, Richard. Just tell me what you know."

"I got a call last night, just before Martha and I went to bed. It was my old dealer. I don't even know how he got my number since we moved! I cut all ties with this life after you helped me get clean! He gave me this address and told me if I didn't show up here, he'd show up at my house. I remember the things he used to do to people, Dr. Watson! I didn't want anything to happen to my wife!"

"So you came."

A nod.

"He said he needed my van. The caged off portion in the back was perfect for a collection he had to make. God, I thought he meant some kind of animal!"

"But he didn't. What happened?"

"He had me drive him and two other men to the alley. He said to wait where I was until they got back or my wife would be getting an unexpected visit. I almost bolted when I heard all the gunfire, but I was too scared! A couple of minutes later, he and one of the other men came back, dragging someone between them. At first I thought it was the third guy, but it wasn't…"

"It was Jim."

Richard nodded, not meeting John's eye. It was obvious he was riddled with guilt. John tried to put on an encouraging face, even though hearing this was killing him, and used his best soothing doctor's voice.

"What did they do next, put Jim in the cage?"

"Y-yeah. He struggled at first, but my dealer he…he struck him in the head with his pistol. He didn't move much after that…"

"Did you come back here?"

"No. They had me take him to a place in Bilmonte, near the river. I didn't go in, but they left me out in the van for a few minutes before coming back to get the man. He was awake again by that point, but they gave him some sort of injection. I don't know what it was, but he wasn't fighting after that. It worked fast, too. Too fast to be heroin."

John nodded now, trying to calculate what drugs they may have used. He was no Sherlock, though, and the answers were too numerous for him to even begin to sort through. His only comfort was that if they had gone through so much trouble to kidnap Jim, they weren't likely to kill him…yet.

"Dr. Watson? When that man, Jim…well, when we were in the van alone together, he talked to me."

That got John's attention. Had Jim somehow picked up on John's connection to this man? He knew the man didn't have the same deductive skills as Sherlock, but he was a genius, too, after all. Maybe there was some sign and he tried to send a message.

"What'd he say?"

"It was…odd. He started chuckling almost as soon as the others had left the van. He said he worried about the incompetence of his kidnappers if they had to resort to blackmailing an amateur like me into helping. I don't even know how he knew!"

Despite the situation, John had to crack a smile at that. It was classic Jim. He just hoped he had the sense to keep such comments to himself in front of the actual kidnappers…not that he thought it was likely.

"He got really serious then, which almost scared me more than the gunfire. I mean, who can just turn everything off like that? I felt like I was paralyzed by his stare. He told me I shouldn't worry about it, which really surprised me. He said he had his own white knight coming for him. I think he meant you."

John's heart constricted painfully. If anything were to happen to Jim…he couldn't even think it. He needed to distract himself.

"Why did you come back here?"

Now Richard looked ashamed, dropping his gaze.

"I just wanted to forget everything…"

John glanced down at the full needle on the ground.

"You didn't take any of it, though. You were strong. C'mon, let's get you out of here. Do you think you can find that building again?"

Richard nodded as John helped him to his feet. He noted Moran glancing in their direction. He wouldn't be able to keep this façade up for long. They needed to get out of their quickly, before things got out of hand. Moran had a team outside, but he really didn't want to have to resort to that.

"Of course. I'll never be able to forget where it is." Richard grabbed John by the shoulders and turned to look at him, grip suddenly strong, gaze determined. "There's something you need to know. When those men came back, they told Jim he'd fetch a high price and to stop fighting so they didn't have to damage the merchandise. Dr. Watson, I think they mean to sell him.

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

The building Richard led them to was plain, cement from the outside. It looked completely unremarkable and just like every other one on the street. It was a brilliant camouflage. Moran began putting teams in place all around the building, calling in every favor he could think of to try and get information. It was just past 11pm when they finally got everything set and heard news back from Moran's favors.

The building belonged to the organization Jim had abandoned, the same one who he was supposed to meet with. It was one of their most brutal establishments and this was only its most recent location, since the exact building changed with every 'event,' as they liked to call them.

Their specialty was allowing customers to purchase death. They kidnapped individuals from all over the world, mostly young, good looking individuals, and brought them out one at a time. The crowd would then compete in an auction style for who would have the honor of deciding how that individual died. It was an establishment where anything went and it was all fair game. As far as Moran knew, Jim had never even known about this side business.

The news didn't comfort John in the slightest. The contact who had given them the information also gave them the access code to get in. Security would be much tighter than it had been at the drug den they'd visited earlier.

He also left them with a final word of caution. The group had been advertising a special event to start at midnight. It was supposedly bigger than anything else they'd done before and they were being extremely close lipped as to the details. It would be almost exclusively their top clients and security would be even tighter than usual.

Sometimes, John wondered if things could ever possibly get crazier than his life.

Getting through security was nerve wracking. There were armed guards all over the place and each patron was given a pat down. The security code was entered into a data pad on the wall before anyone could be admitted into the inner chamber.

John was surprised to find that the inside was actually rather…upscale. Most of the patrons were in tuxes or long formal dresses, though there were still those in jeans. He was suddenly glad Moran had convinced him to change into black cargo pants and a tight-fitting black t-shirt. He would have stood out like a sore thumb with his sweater. Gorgeous women in short black dresses moved throughout the crowd with trays of champagne and leather and suede seating areas were scattered about.

There seemed to be a stage of some sort set up against one wall, a curtain concealing much of it from view. The majority of the patrons milled about in this area. Going closer, they saw a girl on stage, late teens, early twenties with light blonde hair and pale skin. She leaned heavily on the well-built man beside her and seemed to be staring off into the middle distance. With a jolt, John realized she must be drugged. A second man seemed to be running an auction with members of the crowd holding up their drinks in order to place their bid.

She was being _sold_.

It was only Moran hand on his arm that kept the former army doctor from rushing up on stage and dragging the girl out of there. The other man leaned close so he could speak directly into John's ear.

"Remember why we are here. If you want to hunt these bastards down later, that is fine. But we can't risk tipping them off to our purpose. Besides, it's unlikely they'll kill her now. They wouldn't want to spoil the main event."

Begrudgingly, John had to admit the logic in that. He cast a look around the room and almost swore when he saw a familiar face headed their way. Moran instantly looked the same direction, nerves on high alert. Coming to a stop in front of the pair, Sherlock frowned at them.

"Honestly, I don't know what took you so long. You almost didn't make it in time and then I'd have to deal with this whole thing myself. Do you have any idea how irritating that would be? I've been here almost three hours already. This place is _boring_. Oh, don't give me that look, John. I've already texted Lestrade. He'll be ready to move on this place as soon as we've completed our objective."

John's jaw just hung open. Moran glared.

"I thought you said you weren't helping."

Sherlock shrugged.

"I like my skull. Besides, those soil samples have to culture on their own, can't be disturbed. Now, there are a couple things I'm _sure_ you haven't noticed."

As Sherlock talked them through a number of tactical advantages and disadvantages of the establishment, John kept a careful eye on the stage. Watching people being sold while he was just a few yards away just didn't sit well with him, especially knowing they were being sold to their deaths. Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was only a few minutes till midnight. It'd taken longer to get through security than he'd though.

The blonde girl on stage was dragged away and the auctioneer stepped to the center stage. He didn't have to call out for the patrons to gather round. Everyone was clearly eager to find out what this special event was all about.

"Now, then, I am sure you are all ready for main event! We have ourselves a special prize tonight! This one might not be for romancing, but I'm sure you can find some use for him! It is my pleasure to introduce the one and only consulting criminal, Jim Moriarty!"

A/N: Sooooooo….what do you think? As stated earlier, I have some questions about how this should go. The next part will be from Jim's point of view, but would anyone like to see Sherlock's? If so, I will make a third installment from his view before the final conclusion chapter.

I'd also like to know how dark everyone would like this to be. I have some ideas…Naughty, naughty ideas…but I'm not sure how far I will take them. It's up to you!

Admittedly, I was originally going to have John kidnapped, but Hiromi suggested Jim being taken instead. So, you have her to thank for this wonderful chapter! 3 She is lovely.

Last thing. (I PROMISE!) Please check out my one-shot 'What Would You Do?'. It is Jim and John centered, but with no pairing or romance. Thanks so much! Next chapter will be out soon!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: So here we are again, with another chapter. I've decided to go into Sherlock's POV because it will allow me to explain a lot more details about how all this was pulled off and several readers indicated their interest. I hope you enjoy this one, it's all Jim. ;) Naughty boy.

Gone-Part 2

Jim Moriarty didn't think his day could possibly get any more boring. He couldn't even remember why he had agreed to this boring business meeting. The human trafficking ring had been irritating enough to deal with when he was getting something out of it. Now that he'd dropped them, he would probably just spend the entire time listening to their whining. Why had he ever thought this might be interesting? It made his earlier efforts seem hardly worth it.

As far as criminals went, they were far from inventive, though it didn't make them any less dangerous. The only upside of their particular business was how extremely lucrative it was. Kidnapping people and selling them cost much less than when one had to create drugs or acquire weapons. The only reason he had stuck with them as long as he did was because he could take the funds and channel them into other, more consuming projects. He knew the power of good investments. The other plus side of the arrangement was that he could predominantly ignore the organization as a whole while raking in the paycheck, only stepping in when they had gotten themselves into trouble.

It didn't make the situation any better that Moran wasn't there to at least provide him with a modicum of entertainment, though that, too, was a necessary sacrifice. True, Jim had been the one to push him towards spending the day with John, but that had been more for the blonde's benefit than his own. After all, Jim was no fool. He knew he wasn't an easy person to deal with. He was _so _changeable~! It would be good for John to be able to take a bit of a break. After all, not even John Watson could handle both Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes indefinitely. Besides, he felt better with Seb looking after John.

This brought him back to his current situation. He sighed as he gazed at the large building in front of him. It was an old warehouse, something this organization had a penchant for. Peeling paint on the side declared that it had once been used for meat packing, which would explain the smell. From where he stood beside his car, Jim could see four of his men, though he knew more were about the area. One of the men broke away and approached him.

Though great in combat and more daring than most, Marcus Shaw was much more a follower than a leader in Jim's eyes. He'd left the large man in charge during Seb's absence to see how he might handle the responsibility, but he honestly didn't have very high hopes. Part of him even hoped something would go horribly wrong. At least then he'd have something to _do_. That is, of course, as long as that something happened here. A scoff from beside him indicated his companion was of a similar opinion. Marcus was almost to them, though, so there was no time to commiserate.

"All units are in position, sir. We have three snipers in the area covering quadrants A, B, and C. Two men each are coving the entryways and we have another five men covering various streets in the area."

"Answer me this, if you would, Shaw…if there are four quadrants, as would be implied by them being _quad_rants, why are there only _three_ snipers?"

He savored the flicker of panic that came to life in his subordinate's eyes. Seeing that look never got old, he had to admit. Even if he'd given up some of his more unsavory habits for John, he'd always enjoy seeing that fear in someone's eyes. Luckily, John knew him well enough to know that and accepted his darker nature perhaps even more readily than many of Jim's past business associates. As long as Jim didn't involve innocents, John seemed most understanding. It was actually kind of…fascinating.

Marcus was stammering out some excuse or another but Jim just waved him off. The whole quadrants comment had just been to mess with him anyway. He did so love to watch other's squirm. Now, however, was not the time.

"Forget about it, not like there's anything to be done now. Let's just get this meeting over with."

Jim and his companion swept past the guard and into the warehouse, instantly taking stock of the two men standing in the middle of the open space and the four gunmen scattered about. The weapons were common at meetings such as this, and Jim figured the ones he could see weren't the only ones present. His companion leaned in close to confirm his thoughts.

"The one on the right is carrying a gun at his ankle and another on his hip. The one to the left is unarmed, but seems concerned about the time. He's already glanced at his watch twice. I expect there's an attack coming in seven, no, three minutes. Most likely, they wanted to confirm you would actually be here. The attack will come from the east, judging by how their own gunmen are arranged."

"Likely casualties?"

"They have an absolute disregard for their own men, so they will likely all die. Pawns are so often discarded early. Your men are seen as a challenge, but there is no outright malice. Obviously, you are the main target, but they will kill anyone that gets in their way. Judging by the how the one with the guns in holding himself, they want you alive. I expect your men outside will be attacked first, though the ones at the door have a greater chance of survival. I trust you have already warned them of the impending danger?"

Jim nodded.

"Stunning as always, Sherlock. I'm glad I brought you along. It seems like things are finally going to get fun around here."

"Anything to dull the boredom."

Jim slid a sideways grin at his companion, enjoying the genius they shared. There were so few others who were able to properly appreciate their talents. Besides, he'd needed judgments made on a moment's notice and there was no one in the world better suited for such things than Sherlock Holmes. They were going to absolutely have to play another game sometime soon, minus the endangered innocents, of course. At the very least, this little situation would keep him occupied for a short time.

It was the unarmed man who spoke first, still glancing at his watch a little too often.

"So glad you could make it, Mr. Moriarty. We were starting to get worried."

"What can I say? Traffic is terrible this time of day. It just makes you want to set off a bomb, doesn't it?"

Jim let his signature manic grin slip onto his face, feeling the undercurrent of fear that permeated the room. He knew the men in front of him weren't in charge of the smuggling ring, but it didn't diminish the satisfaction of insuring they would never, ever forget him. He strolled forward nonchalantly, indicating the warehouse in a sweeping gesture.

"Rather a gloomy place for a business meeting, don't you think? I've always preferred places with a little more…panache."

He knew his grand gestures and intimidating nature were the perfect distractions for Sherlock to slip away and deal with whatever he needed to. Really, no one could take their eyes off him if he didn't want them to. Jim didn't need to be a genius to know that John would never forgive him for getting his best friend killed and, if he were completely honest(a rare thing indeed), he'd be loath to lose his favorite play mate.

The man with the hidden guns glared at him as though taking a personal offence to the slight against the location. Really, people could be so _touchy_. Jim was almost glad with the knowledge that these two would likely soon die. He'd always hate those who felt they had the right to judge him. It was what had led him to kill Carl Powers all those years ago, back when he was just starting out and was still in school. It was the same case that had first brought Sherlock to him attention. Now wasn't the time to be getting distracted, though.

The unarmed man coughed and straightened, appearing for all the world ready to get down to business. Jim, however, knew all too well that he was stalling. At this point, it would be pointless to attempt to leave. The only course of action was to ride this out.

"Mr. Moriarty, sir, we requested this meeting to address that fact that you were considering withdrawing your support of our organization."

"Wrong in the first sentence! My, I think that may just be a record! You are obviously mistaken. I am not _considering_ withdrawing my support, I quite already _have_. My interests have moved in other directions, you could say."

"All the same, we feel that you may not have fully considered the ramifications of such a choice."

"Well, then, you obviously don't know me very well. I assure you, I've considered everything."

It was at this time that the gunfire started. As the sound cut through the air, Jim's sniper in the rafters set to work taking out the various men inside the warehouse. The attackers seemed to be approaching from the east and so Jim moved towards the western side of the building. It'd just be icing on the cake to disappear at this point and, really, John would kill him if he got shot.

The armed man had different ideas, though. He avoided the chaos in the rest of the warehouse to follow Jim, pulling a gun when he was only about five feet from the door.

"Not so fast, there. I don't think we're done talking." His speech patterns indicated at least a modicum of intelligence, so perhaps he was a bit more than just a hired gun. Still, he'd pulled a gun on Jim Moriarty and there could really only be one conclusion to that story.

Jim smiled as the bullet tore through his enemy's head. This was why it was so important to keep good snipers on the payroll. One must never underestimate their usefulness.

He didn't get to celebrate his victory for long, though, before the door behind him opened and he had a whole new batch of problems to deal with. Three men stood in the entryway, having already dispatched Jim's guards who's been stationed there. One's left arm was bleeding from what looked like a bullet graze, but otherwise they were all unharmed. The man in the middle, not the bleeding one and obviously the leader, had a gun leveled in his direction.

"Dan, get rid of that bloody sniper while we deal with this sod."

Jim merely arched an eyebrow at being referred to as a sod. He had to admit, that was a new one. Usually, the language used against him was so much more…colorful. The other uninjured man dashed off into the warehouse, gun of his own drawn. Jim fought back a smile at the thought that this man, too, would die. The sniper in the rafters was a man by the name of Spinner and he was one of the best. Spinner was American, ex-FBI, and the only one in Jim's employ who could rival Seb's skill with a rifle. Unfortunately, this cannon fodder would cause a distraction for at least a little while and the other two seemed intent of taking advantage.

Unfortunately for them, one didn't get to the top of the criminal food chain without learning a thing or two about close combat. As the men surged forward, Jim dropped one foot out behind him braced himself. The first on to reach him was the leader, who he promptly smashed in the nose with the flat of his palm. While blood dripped down his surprised face, Jim cupped both hands and slammed them over his ears, rupturing his eardrums and sending him reeling. Pivoting, he jumped out of the way of the other man's fist, narrowly avoiding a debilitating blow to the ribs.

The man reacted quickly, clearly the most proficient with hand to hand, bringing a foot forward to hook around Jim's ankle and yank him off his feet. Jim felt his breath leave him in a whoosh and his skull hit the cement painfully, no doubt getting dirty in his usually immaculate hair. He growled through gritted teeth.

"This is Westwood!"

He lashed out with his legs, tangling them in those of his opponent and bringing the other man down. He scrambled to his feet, only to be seized from behind by the leader, who had apparently recovered from his shock. (Jim knew, though, that the ringing in his ears and the pain would last for several days.)

"Quit horsing around! We need to move!"

Jim was lifted off the ground, much to his chagrin. He knew he was just barely average height, but come on! He lashed out backwards with his heels, attempting to catch his attacker in the shin. His captor yelped at the strike and his hold weakened, allowing Jim to slip free and dash for the exit.

He made it almost to the curve of the alley when the two men caught up with him. Damn, he'd been hoping Spinner would get them before they had time to follow. He knew it was too much to hope for that the two other snipers on the roof would still be around to help out. Not only were they of less skill than Spinner, they were probably dead.

AS he grappled with his two assailants, Jim felt a burning anger starting to build inside of him. He was no stranger to death and he wasn't one to worry too much about the loss of a pawn. What he did take offence to, though, was the fact that these men had the gall to attack _his_ organization and kill _his _people. Did they have any idea how hard it was to find good help these days? The final straw came when Jim heard fabric tear.

"I thought I told you, this is _Westwood_!"

He slammed an elbow into one attacker's throat, not the leader's. As the man chocked and tried desperately to get air back in his lungs, Jim whipped around to bring a knee up into the leader's groin. The leader pivoted at the last second, though, and Jim's knee hit his thigh instead. The larger man grabbed Jim by the hair and all but threw him into the alley's wall.

He groaned, knowing he was going to be sore after this. His muscles were already protesting. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he glanced up just in time to see a figure peering over the ledge of the building opposite. The mop of dark hair was instantly recognizable and Jim could clearly see the look of debate flickering over Sherlock's face. Should he help Jim or run for help?

"G-get John."

He knew there was no way the man could hear him at this distance, but one didn't become as successful as Sherlock Holmes without learning a few tricks. They'd already covered the fact that he could read lips, making it possible for Jim to pass of him message without having to be too obvious. The detective nodded and turned to run, gone by the time Jim's opponents turned to look. The leader shot him a dirty glare before seizing him by the hair again.

When had everything become so…dizzy?

"We need to get him out of here, no more fooling around."

Jim felt his head crash into something hard. Maybe it was the wall? The ground? He couldn't be sure anymore. Distantly, he recognized the feeling of hands lifting him and being dumped onto a cold, hard surface. His struggles were disorganized and sluggish, but they were enough to cause his attackers problems. He felt another sharp pain in his head and his entire world seemed to tilt. His vision blurred and faded and he wondered if maybe he had a concussion. What were the symptoms of a concussion?

Seb had taught him during that trip to Siberia, hadn't he? It was when Marcus had gotten attacked by the tiger. Where was Marcus, anyway? Did he make it out alive? Was he going to tell Seb? Jim expected so. Why wasn't Seb here? Seb was always there when Jim got in trouble.

Oh, yeah. He was with John. Jim really should make sure they weren't swapping embarrassing stories about him. He really couldn't let John find out about that whole debacle with the rubber duckies. Knowing how paranoid the man could be at times, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to look at the toys the same again. (And, really, Jim couldn't blame him. He'd weeded out most of that organization, but he couldn't be sure he'd destroyed all of those troublesome ducks.)

Speaking of John, he'd probably know the symptoms for a concussion. He was a doctor, after all. He probably knew all sorts of things. All Jim knew was that it hurt to move his head. He'd probably just lie still for a while. At least, he would if this stupid ground would stop swaying. Why was the ground moving, anyway? Was that another symptom? Bloody hell, he was tired…

Jim drifted off for a while and his head hurt a lot less when he came back around. He was able to recognize the rumbling motion beneath him as the motion of a vehicle, probably a van of some sort from what he could see off the paneling. His head still hurt to move, so it was probably best if he stayed still. Besides, his captors would be less suspecting if they thought he was unconscious, best to stay still and plot his next action.

Though his attackers had shown a certain level of intelligence with their earlier attack on the warehouse, they shouldn't be too hard to outsmart now that he had his faculties back. Even if he chose to sit back and do nothing, these fools would soon have the righteous fury of John Hamish Watson reigning down upon their heads. Truly, the man disguised it well with his sweaters and humble attitude, but he became a compact storm of pure rage when his loved ones were threatened.

Jim could still remember the moment the blonde had grabbed hold of him from behind at the pool, willing to blow them both up in order to save Sherlock. He also remembered the unexpected excitement he'd felt to have the other's firm body pressed up against his own, even if there was that troublesome bomb vest in the way. Now was not the time for those thoughts, though.

He could feel the van slowing to a stop, pulling off the street and into what he could only guess was a garage of some kind. He heard the two men who'd captured him get out of the vehicle and walk away. The van was still on and, even with the cage he could see when he opened his eyes, he doubted he'd be so quick to leave him alone. The sound of shuffling from the front seat confirmed his suspicions that there was someone still in the van with him.

Turning his head slowly, he gazed at the van's driver. He was middle aged and nervous. His gaze flitted repeatedly after the two men. Jim didn't need the deductive skills of Sherlock Holmes to figure out that he'd been coerced into helping. The man had a cleaned up look about him that was uncharacteristic of a thug, even a high end one. Besides, Jim fancied himself a good judge of character. (After all, if any one was going to judge others on their character, Jim had the most room to talk.)

The man nearly jumped out of his skin when Jim sat up, gingerly, and shifted position so that his back was against the side of the cage. He definitely wasn't used to a life of crime, then. Jim would never use such a skittish individual for one of his operations, even if it was only as a getaway driver. The man was staring at him like Jim was about to rip through the cage and consume his soul. He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up and past his lips.

"Oh, this is priceless! My reputation must really have taken a hit for this! What was it, blackmail? Seems the most likely reason for an amateur like you to be in on this kind of scheme. There was a time when no one would dare move against me without a team of professionals."

He cut off the laughter as his head ached in protest. What had they hit him with that last time? He was surprised he couldn't feel blood dripping down his scalp. The man in the driver's seat seemed even more terrified by his silence than he had by his laughter. Jim almost rolled his eyes. Ordinary people could be so annoying…maybe it was just John who was adorable?

"You shouldn't worry, you know."

"W-what?"

"You shouldn't worry. I can tell you are. Newbies are prone to worrying about their victims, especially if the newbies are being blackmailed." He sent a pointed look in the man's direction. "But you don't need to. I'm not in any danger."

"You're not? What the bloody Hell do you call this, then?"

Jim waved a hand in front of his face, brushing off the idea.

"If these kidnappers had any idea what they were doing, I'd have been bound by now. Really, for an organization that abducts people as their primary function, this is rather disappointing. I was expecting better."

"How can you be so nonchalant about this?! Do you know who these people even are? They're not good people!"

Now Jim really did roll his eyes.

"_Obviously_. I'm of the understanding that 'good people' don't usually go around kidnapping others. They're hardly a threat to me, though." He smiled, thinking of John. "I have my very own white knight coming to save me."

The driver just stared at him is disbelief. He probably would have said something more, but the rear doors were yanked open and the two men from earlier were back. The leader grinned wickedly upon finding him awake.

"Oh, good! You're just in time to meet our boss!"

Jim feigned a surprised face, much like the one he'd given Sherlock that day at the pool.

"You mean _you_ aren't the boss? Well, I must admit that comes as quite the relief. I was afraid for a bit that I may have been backing an organization run by a completely incompetent fool."

The man growled in response, ripping open the door to the cage. It only further proved Jim's point when this gave him to opportunity to place a well-aimed kick to his face. If his nose hadn't been broken before, it sure as Hell was now. Jim grinned even as the other man yanked him from the cage and threw him to the ground, jarring his head painfully. Now that they were at headquarters, or close enough, the two seemed on more even footing. As the first man cursed from pain, the other leaned low over Jim and produced a needle from seemingly nowhere.

"Now, now, Mr. Moriarty, do calm down. You're going to fetch such a pretty price for us and Boss will kill us if we damage the merchandise."

Well, that wasn't good.

He stuck the needle in Jim's neck and he felt the pressure as the drug was pushed into his system. Jim was no doctor, but he was pretty sure you weren't supposed to mix heavy drugs with a concussion. Perhaps that was why it took effect so quickly.

Though Jim had never taken drugs himself, he did know the effects very well. Many injectable drugs, even heroin, took between ten and twelve seconds to take effect. He was feeling this injection immediately. As the plunger pushed the drug into his system, he could immediately feel his thoughts clouding and his limbs growing heavier. There had to be an accelerant involved.

Really, the whole situation was rather funny and Jim couldn't help but start giggling. These idiots really thought they could get away with kidnapping and drugging Jim _bloody_ Moriarty? He could not _wait_ until John got here.

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW JMJWJMWJM

From that point on, Jim swung back and forth between extreme giddiness and a level of drowsiness that would have worried him in another situation. As things stood, worrying wasn't really on his to-do list. The two men had dragged him inside the building, seeing as he wouldn't be able to walk right then.

Once inside, there had been some interaction with an older gentleman, but Jim couldn't pay attention to what was being said. Everything just looked so shiny! Shortly thereafter, or maybe a long time later (Jim was having trouble keeping track), he looked up to find himself in a completely different room. The drug was wearing off enough so that he could get more of a handle of his thoughts, but his body was still sluggish and the edges of his mind felt fuzzy.

The room was dark, all reds and blacks, and rather nice in comparison to the other areas he had seen or at least the ones he could remember. His head still hurt, but it wasn't quite as bad as before. He couldn't tell if it was because it was getting better or because of the drugs. He was laid out sideways across a couch, but he doubted his ability to stand without assistance. A man, mid-thirties, appeared at the edge of his vision, smiling down at him.

Where did they keep coming from?

"Oh, good! You're up! I must confess, a little bit of consciousness makes this part easier. I'm Randy."

Jim couldn't help giggling at the man's name as he was moved into an upright sitting position. The man ignored him and instead pulled off Jim's suit jacket. As he started in on the buttons, Jim began to squirm and attempted to push his hands away. It wasn't very effective, but it was the best he could do.

He didn't want this man taking his clothes off. Only John got to do that.

"Stoooop…I don't…want to…"

The man just gave him an indulgent smile and continued popping one button after another.

"You don't have a lot of choice in the matter, dear. Besides, you're our main entertainment for this evening. We can't have you going out there looking like such a mess. It's my job to get you cleaned up."

That made sense, he supposed. He did so hate being dirty, after all. He let Randy remove the rest of his clothing without a fuss, but kept a keen eye on him for suspicious behavior. (Or as keen an eye as one can have while high as a kite.) Once he was naked, Randy lead him over to a tub in the corner and all but lifted him into it.

The water felt warm against his skin and Jim couldn't help but grin broadly. Randy really wasn't that bad, now that he thought about it. The man began working through Jim's hair, which was knotted and tangled despite its short length. Perhaps there had been a bit of blood before after all.

After fixing his hair, Randy scrubbed down the rest of Jim's body. If he lingered somewhere a bit too long, Jim would shove his hand away. Only John got to appreciate him, no one else. Once he was out of the tub, he was draped in the biggest, fluffiest towel he'd ever seen in his life. He laughed as he nuzzled into it and was more than happy to rub it all over himself to dry off. He liked it so much he didn't want to give it back.

He had curled up at one end of the couch and clutched the towel to himself as Randy tried to convince him to let go. No matter what the man said, he'd just shake his head and clutch it tighter. He had to bring this towel back to John. John would love this towel.

"Ok. How about this? You can keep the towel, but I need you to put these clothes on, too." He indicated the small cluster of clothes he held in one hand. "We want you to look good for tonight and, though I'm sure sending you out there naked would get quite a reaction, we have plans."

Reluctantly, Jim allowed himself to be dressed. The outfit was simple, but elegant. The slacks he was given were black and clearly of a fine make, as was the shirt, which was a dark red. The two colors together played off his pale skin and Jim wished he could show John how it looked. He'd have to remember it for later.

Randy then moved on to making sure Jim's hair was in place and covering up the marks that had been left by the earlier kidnapping. Through it all, he kept up a constant commentary on how the kidnappers had messed up big time in harming him. He told Jim how cute he looked all defenseless and how much he was looking forward to seeing what happened later that night.

At some point, Jim hit another one of his drowsy spells and fell asleep right there on the couch. When he woke up, it was in a dark room. He was draped against Randy, who was the only thing keeping him standing, even now that he was awake again. They must have given him more of the drug.

Suddenly, bright light assaulted his vision as one of the room's walls split open and Randy dragged him forward. He started to lift his hand to block out the light, but found he couldn't move it up all the way. Blinking dumbly down at his wrist, he saw that they were cuffed together and chained to both his feet and a collar that encircled his neck.

Confusion colored his clouded mind as a booming voice said his name, along with a string of other words he couldn't quite piece together. Looking around for the first time, he noticed the crowd of people. Though he'd never been the nervous type before, something in their gazes just set him on edge.

He was so distracted he almost toppled over when Randy nudged him forward and prompted him through a slow 360 degree turn. The booming voice was still talking, picking up speed now numbers were being called. Jim decided he very much didn't like this. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to John.

Then suddenly, like a breath of fresh air, John was there. He stood in the crowd and said something that made all the others just stare at him. Jim had to giggle. He wondered what John had said. It hardly mattered though.

John was here~! He loved it that John was here. It felt like it had been so long since he'd seen the other man. He wanted to curl up around him and revel in his warmth. Yes, yes. That's exactly what he wanted.

He was so excited about John's presence, that he didn't even notice he was being carted over to a table until he was being strapped down to him, back to the surface. He twisted his arms around a bit, but they weren't going anywhere.

John was coming forward now. Good, John would let him out. He had just opened him mouth when he realized John, _his_ John, had a knife in his hand. Jim frowned. That wasn't right. What was going on?

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaand that's it. TADA! I know, I'm awful. But the next chapter should be out soon. I have discovered the secret to getting myself to write. (Which happens to be not sleeping.) Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I cannot express how much reading your feedback means to me! Also, I have decided to expend this fic from 12 to 15 chapters! *happy dance* Hopefully, I will be able to hold your attention for that long. Meanwhile, I will also continue to post one-shots and little short fics.

I noticed that there is a sad lack of Johnniarty here on . As such, I will attempt to focus my efforts on that area, though I will have Johnlock fics coming out as well. I can't help but hope to spread the wonderful word of Johnniarty to all. If I may leave one this behind in this world, I hope it is that. Thank you all again for your support! I will see you in the next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This is coming out a bit later than I would have liked, but here it is.

Gone-Part 3

For all his big, brilliant brain, Sherlock couldn't figure out how things had gone so horribly wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be easy. No one was supposed to get hurt. At least, no one was supposed to get hurt very seriously. He'd have been a fool not to expect at least a few repercussions for letting Jim get kidnapped, but nothing lasting.

So why was John bleeding in his arms?

The sight still made his brain go not so big and not so brilliant. He couldn't think, couldn't fathom that John was…hurt. It wasn't right. He must be mistaken. John was his best friend, only friend. He was there when everyone else was gone. He protected Sherlock from enemies as well as from friends. He was always there, always.

Once, Sherlock had told John not to make people out to be heroes. Heroes didn't exist and if they did, Sherlock wouldn't be one of them. Really, he should have been taking his own advice. Without even realizing it, he'd put John on a pedestal of being untouchable. He'd taken the man for granted and now he was paying the price.

He managed to tear his eyes away from John long enough to see Sebastian dragging Jim towards them. The mastermind was leaning heavily against his second, arm slung over his shoulder. Moran held a gun in his other hand and fired off a few more shots before turning his attention to Sherlock.

"We've got to get them out of here."

The detective could feel himself nodding, but not really understanding the words. They were moving? Why were they moving? Was it okay to move John? The only doctor he trusted enough to answer that question was unconscious in his lap. A bullet zipped past him and buried itself in a couch nearby. Shame, it looked like real Italian leather.

Oh, wait, the bullets. People were shooting at them. That's why they needed to move. What if John got shot? John wasn't allowed to get shot. Furthermore, no one was allowed to shoot John. Reminded of the danger they, and mainly John, were still in, Sherlock felt his mind sharpening. It was like going from slow motion to hyper speed and the younger Holmes brother took a sharp breath as everything snapped back into focus.

Quick as lightning, he assessed his flat mate's injuries. The blonde had a stab wound in the side that needed attention, but could wait until they got out of the current firefight. A blow to the head was what had knocked him out and was much more worrisome. There was no way for Sherlock to tell how bad that injury was without more information. The man who had caused the injury was some feet away, a bullet through his brain.

Sherlock felt a slight increase in his respect for Moran.

Deciding that it was safe to move John, Sherlock swept the man up in his arms. Had he been conscious, the movement would have been absolutely agonizing for John. However, seeing as how he wouldn't actually feel it, Sherlock decided it would be better to aim for speed than being gentle. John may be small, but he was compact and Sherlock felt himself strain against the weight.

"You are _so_ going on a diet after this."

Moran was already moving across the room, one hand keeping Jim's arm slung across his shoulder and the other firing his gun. Moriarty's men were scattered about, shooting at the enemy, but there were still plenty of men left to shoot back. For his part, the mad genius was staring at Sherlock, seemingly oblivious to the world, and bullets, around him. His eyes were riveted of the doctor in his arms.

Since Jim had appeared on stage, he'd done mostly nothing but giggle and grin, obviously drugged. He hadn't been able to stand on his own and his dopey smile and made him all the more valuable in the eyes of the men and women wanting to bid on his death. It made his seem more innocent and naïve. Even if everyone in the audience knew he was anything but, the illusion played right into their fantasies.

It had been Sherlock's idea for John to start bidding. The two ex-soldiers were too straight forward in their thinking, more prone to head on attacks. It would only end up with more injuries. Besides, individuals couldn't get into this club that didn't have the money to bid, so it wasn't like they were going to ask John for proof that he could back up whatever he bid. All they had to do was create an illusion that they were purchasing Moriarty and then, through some clever subterfuge, slip the man out.

Sherlock had the whole thing planned out and had felt victory in his grasp as one after another bidder dropped out of the war. Scanning the crowd, Sherlock wasn't surprised by the few familiar faces he saw. There were a couple well-known business men who he'd only seen in pictures, but they had been enough to tell him all about their unsavory habits. A duchess he'd met only once was staring at Jim like a piece of meat. (She was one of the few still in the bidding war.) Thankfully, he'd been in disguise when they'd met so there was no risk of her recognizing him.

Everything was working out perfectly until Sherlock realized the organization meant to kill Jim right off. Their usual method was to hold each of the captives until after the biddings before delivering them to private rooms for their deaths. Apparently, the organization thought that Jim Moriarty was too good a prize to hold off on, though, or to do away with in private.

Luckily, John was a quick thinker in high risk situations, one of Sherlock's favorite qualities in the man. He knew better than to look to Sherlock for guidance, which would have been suspicious. Instead, he trusted his friend to have everything worked out and selected a knife to complete his task. Sherlock mused that John really could have had a backup career as an actor with the performance he put on about wanting to take it slow and watch Moriarty suffer.

Sherlock would have to keep that in mind for future reference.

Now, though, his mind raced to find a way to get them all out of this alive. As John took his time slicing off each button of Jim's shirt, Sherlock was reevaluating the weak points of the room. With Jim and John at the center of attention, there was no subtle way to go about this rescue. It was obvious that Moran would have teams outside, if he didn't he was an idiot, and they would provide just the distraction Sherlock was looking for.

Less than thirty second after Moran's text for action, they heard the first signs of the encroaching battle. Discomfort swept through the room at the sound of gunfire and several patrons started to look quite panicked when something that sounded suspiciously like a grenade went off. The duchess was one of these. She turned her anger on the man who had been running the auction.

"You fools! No doubt those are Moriarty's men! How careless were you in taking him? He holds the entire underworld in the palm of his hand! Did you really think it would be so easy?" She pulled a handgun from the inside of her coat with a flick of her wrist and pointed it at the man. Sherlock blinked rapidly in surprise. "Really, it's almost insulting how much you've underestimated the boss-man. But, hey, at least you have the excuse of being stupid."

The room exploded into action as she fired off a shot. At one end, the doors slammed open as Jim's men swarmed the place. At the other, the organization's goons pulled weapons and started firing back. Waiters and waitresses dove for cover as the patrons panicked, many getting caught in the crossfire. To be honest, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to feel very concerned.

The (fake?) duchess was grinning so wide it nearly split her face as she pulled another gun from hiding and ducked behind a column to fire at the enemy. Her entire body language had changed and Sherlock was left wondering if this was really the same woman. He didn't have the time to dwell on it, though, as he turned to John.

The blonde was currently in a fist fight with the man who had dragged Moriarty onto the stage. Clearly, the man had tried to retrieve Jim and John was getting in his way. John grabbed the man behind his head and pulled him down hard to knee him in the face. He slumped to the ground with barely a groan. Sherlock hopped up onto the elevated platform to help get his ex-nemesis out of his bindings.

Jim giggled at him as he wrestled with the ties.

"Sh'lock! Sooooooo good to see you! I wasn't-wasn't sure you'd be showzing up!"

"Quite."

After that, Jim's focus, if it could even be called that, was squarely on John. Even drug addled as he was, Jim had his priorities in order. As soon as his arms were free, he was reaching for the man, babbling on about towels are some other nonsense. Sherlock just focused on untying his ankles. They needed to get out of here. He should have been paying more attention.

A pained grunt from John was the only indication that something was wrong. Sherlock's head snapped up in time to see the man John had just been fighting rip a knife from John's side before slamming the hilt into the back of his skull. Horror filled him as the doctor crumpled, drawing an intelligible but clearly distressed cry from the man still partially bound. Even with a black shirt, Sherlock could see the blood spreading.

The man with the knife turned on Sherlock only to stop with a jolt as a bullet tore through his forehead. He fell to the side to reveal Moran running toward the platform and vaulting over his lifeless body. The colonel gestured towards John.

"Get him to cover! I'll get Jim!"

Discarding his usual lack of ability when it came to taking orders, Sherlock had dragged his unconscious friend off the platform and behind a pillar. It was there, with John clutched desperately in his arms, that his mind had short circuited. He really shouldn't have let that happen.

His long legs allowed him to easily keep pace with the mercenary as they made their way across the room with their burdens. Moriarty's minions moved seamlessly to cover them and clear their path. There were only twelve of them, but they were clearly Jim's best. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock caught a glimpse of a figure darting among the enemies, taking them out with a sword. Really, where did Jim _find_ these people?

They made it out the door without further incident, if you could call walking through a gunfight not an incident. Moran had a van waiting and the back doors swung open as they approached. A tall man with a pinched face looked out at them, running a calculating look over all four. He gave a huff of annoyance before stepping aside.

"Well, get them inside. I want this over with as soon as possible. Unlike some of you, I actually have a life."

"Whatever, Graves. See to Watson first. My head will roll if anything happens to him and Jim's not in any immediate danger."

Graves gave a noise of indifference as Sherlock set John on the tarp-covered floor of the van. He watched closely as the man cut John's shirt off and inspected the wound in John's side. Without looking up, he pulled over one of the several tool boxes that were scattered about the back. Flipping open the lid, he pulled out a needle and thread. The, Sherlock hesitated to use the word, doctor poured a generous about of rubbing alcohol over John's side before wiping off most of the blood.

"The wound isn't bad. It's bleeding a lot, but that's to be expected. I imagine the worst side effect will be his need to take it easy for the next several weeks. Don't want to irritate the injury or pull the stitches. Which of you wants to drive? I need him back at my workshop to monitor his head wound and I'll have something there to flush the rest of the drug out of our dear leader's system."

"You intend to stitch him up while in a moving vehicle?"

Sherlock's incredulous question was met with a bored look, which was as much of an answer as it appeared he'd be getting. He snatched up the keys and moved to the driver's seat. Moran could deal with Moriarty.

"Where am I going?"

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

"Where am I?"

When John woke up, it was to a splitting head ache. He raised one hand to his aching head and looked to the side. Sherlock watched him over the book in his hand. The room they were in was unfamiliar, but clearly not a hospital, though there was some equipment scattered about. It looked more like a really cheap hotel, the kind you rented an hour at a time.

There wasn't a clock and the one window was so covered in grime John couldn't see through it, but light was filtering in so it had to be at least the next day. Sherlock had put his book down and was studying John intensely.

"One of Jim's places, how do you feel?"

"Bloody awful."

The brunette's lips quirked in an almost smile.

"Well, you did get stabbed. It's been said that it can leave you a bit worse for wear."

"Still not as bad as getting shot."

"Yes, well, let's try not to go for a repeat of that experience."

The blonde man's chuckle quickly turned into a groan as he pressed a hand to his side. He shut his eyes for a moment before looking over at Sherlock again.

"Alright, no more making me laugh. In this situation, laughter is definitely not the best medicine."

Sherlock could clearly see the pain on his face, despite his attempts to hide it. The brunette pushed himself up from his chair.

"I'll get the doctor."

"Don't. I'm fine, just need a minute." He took a couple deep breathes and Sherlock would see him settling down. "Where's Jim? Dealing with the crisis, I assume."

Sherlock approached the bedside, discarding the thought of sitting back down.

"He came by early this morning once the drugs were all out of his system. He seemed to need reassurance that you were okay, but left soon after. There's been an underling coming by every hour to check on you, no doubt sending him updates."

"He's okay, then? No lasting damage?"

"Nothing a drug flush and a night's sleep didn't fix. Really, I think Anderson could have pulled off a better kidnapping."

Now John was grinning again and Sherlock could almost believe that things were okay and that they would just go back to how things normally were. (It startled him somewhat to realize that Jim making a habit of walking into their flat unannounced to shower John with affection had become normal, or that he and Sherlock had wound up such good…friends. On the bright side, though, it drove Mycroft up the wall.) However, Sherlock couldn't shake the feeling he'd gotten that morning that something wasn't quite right.

Jim had been relieved to see John and know that he was okay, even if he hadn't awoken yet. Graves had assured them that he remained unconscious because of the stress to his body from healing, not because of brain damage caused by the head injury. Still, there had been a current of tension in the way Jim held himself that put Sherlock of high alert. It was easy enough for him to deduce that the man felt guilty and blamed himself for John getting hurt. What Sherlock couldn't tell was what he planned to do about it.

After all, Jim Moriarty was not a man who was easy to predict. With a mind that worked as fast as Sherlock's, it was nigh impossible to deduce at the same rate as the other man made decisions. That being said, the detective had a nagging in his gut that this was not going to end well. He couldn't be sure what was going to happen, but it wasn't going to be good.

He wasn't going to tell John any of this, of course. The man needed to rest and heal and, for once, Sherlock was going to do his best to keep any and all stress out of the other's life. (At least until things became unbearably boring.) John's injury had driven home the man's importance in Sherlock's life and he was still in a protective phase. His thoughts were interrupted as the doctor from the night before swept into the room, looking as grumpy as he had previously.

"Awake, I see, Dr. Watson. Good. I'm going to check your wounds."

The saying that doctor's didn't make good patients obviously didn't extend to John. He sat through Graves's examination without complaint, moving and adjusting when and where told to. He answered the doctor's questions as fully as he could, his own medical knowledge giving his answers precision and direction. Despite his permanently sour expression, Sherlock could read Graves's satisfaction in his body language. He clearly appreciated a patient who cooperated. (It was probably a rarity, considering that his street surgeon business didn't normally bring in willing participants, or at least not eager ones.)

However, he did seem competent, and that was what mattered to Sherlock. The examination lasted only a few minutes and the doctor nodded at the end as he stepped away.

"Well, the good news is that there shouldn't be any lasting damage and you're healing up well. You'll need to keep an eye on the stab wound, it required some stitches. I'm told you're a doctor?"

"Yeah, ex-army and I still do some locum work at a surgery."

"Good. Then the care shouldn't cause you much a problem. If you encounter any complications, though, feel free to call me. I won't be held responsible for anything going wrong. The boss would have my head and I really don't have time for that. As for the head wound, it'll be tender for a while. You'll have a headache for a while, but stick to over the counter painkillers to manage it." He turned to Sherlock. "Someone will need to keep an eye on him. Moriarty left me with instructions to tell you what to look for. If any of these things appear, contact me immediately."

The man began rattling off symptoms, but Sherlock was no longer listening. His mind was racing as all the pieces began to fall into place. Unceremoniously, he pushed past the doctor, ignoring his sound of indignation. Seizing John's arm, he pulled the man up.

"Come on, we've got to go. Hurry."

"Sherlock? What are you talking about? What's going on?"

Despite his confusion and obvious exasperation with Sherlock's behavior, John moved after the man as he fled the building and hailed a cab. It was one of the traits valued most about his friend. He knew Sherlock well enough to understand that there was not always time for an explanation and trusted him enough to follow without one.

Sherlock spent the taxi ride going over all the details in him mind and hoping that he was wrong, more than he ever had before in his life. If the situation turned out the way he thought it would…He didn't want to consider the repercussions. He could feel John's questioning look from across the taxi, especially when he told the driver to go to Baker Street. He was throwing money at the driver and getting out of the car before it had even come to a full stop. John hurried after him.

Horror filled him when he saw the door to 221C standing open. He heard John falter behind him, more than likely putting the pieces together himself. Cautiously, he entered the flat.

It was empty, completely and utterly. Every piece of furniture, every appliance, every grocery from the kitchen was all gone.

Jim Moriarty had left.

A/N: And there you have it! All will be resolved next time! Please tell me what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Alright! Here you have it, the conclusion to the Gone series! (Don't worry, though, this is not the end of the Scream series!) Special treat for everyone at the end for putting up with my insanity and love for kidnappings!

Return

"You talk to him."

"Are you insane, Spinner? I don't want to die! Why don't you talk to him?"

"The mood he's in? No way."

Spinner sat back on the couch, stretching his long legs in front of him. A few of Moriarty's Deadly Dozen, minus Sebastian, were scattered around the room. The twins had been playing cards at the table, but the game now lay forgotten. Kili and Fili, who obviously had too much of an obsession with The Hobbit, were now focused entirely on their argument with Spinner.

Duchess and Graves obviously had no interest in what was being said. As the two oldest members, they were often exasperated by their younger colleagues. The twins, especially, had a tendency to make fools of themselves. Jezebel sat in an armchair, sharpening her sword with a wet stone, filling the air with a rasping sound. Marcus was brewing a new pot of coffee. Ever since the fuck up at the warehouse, he'd been working overtime to make up for it. Clearly, he blamed himself for the whole situation. With a sigh, he intervened in what could easily become an all-out fight.

"Neither of you will be talking to him. We don't get paid to be his life counselors. We're paid to kill people, when and where he tells us, no questions asked."

He sent a stern look Kili's way, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Kili and Spinner had started this, but Marcus was pretty sure Kili was the only one likely to actually try and act on it. Fili, of course, immediately jumped in to defend his twin.

"We don't want to be his councilors!"

"Yeah, we don't get paid nearly enough for _that_."

"Shut up, Kili. It's just that the boss has been really…distracted since the kidnapping. The Jim Moriarty we all know and fear is cold, calculating, and completely off his rocker. This Jim, though, he's going to make a mistake and when it happens, it's going to happen big. We all chose sides in this fight and I, for one, would like to feel secure in the fact that we chose the winning one."

Jezebel's head snapped up at Fili's words, but her hand didn't pause in its sharpening. Her jet black hair framed pale skin as she glared at the blonde, her traditional Japanese features haunting against the inky backdrop.

"Watch it. You're getting really close to saying something I'll have to kill you for. Are you thinking of switching sides?"

Fili held up his hands in defense as Kili stood up, determined to protect his brother if it so came to it. The black haired twin had no desire to leave Jim's service, but his brother came first, always. Luckily, Fili was always good at talking people down.

"Woah, woah. No such thing. You wouldn't remember this, it was before your time here, but the boss man saved me and Kili. He made us who we are today. We owe him our lives and we're not going to forget that, ever. Not a single one of us got here by having spotty loyalty. Whatever the boss wants us to do, you better be sure we're gonna do it."

Jezebel sheathed her sword, apparently done sharpening it for the time being. She took on a thoughtful look before nodding.

"I just don't see what's causing all of these issues."

"It's that doctor guy, Sherlock Holmes's assistant or whatever."

"Eloquent as always, Kili."

"Shut up, bro. I'm right and you know it."

"His name is John Watson, ex-army doctor. He was invalided home from Afghanistan after taking a gunshot wound to the shoulder which should have been fatal. He's an excellent shot, easily good enough to rival Kili's skill with a pistol, but no sniper. He is…impressive."

The majority of the room stared at Graves.

"Did you just join a conversation of your own free will?"

"Quick, someone check his temperature!"

Graves just glared at the twins. He really wished he didn't have to put up with them.

"I treated Doctor Watson after the kidnapping incident and have followed his medical journals from when he was in the RAMC. I can't say much for the manners of his flat mate, but he is a remarkable man."

Kili's mouth was hanging open. Graves never complimented _anyone_. The fact that his sour expression didn't change the entire time did nothing to lessen the shock. Fili was the first to recover.

"That man scares me. You know, when the boss went to the Yard to return his phone, this guy started _reprimanding_ him. I've never seen Moriarty take shit from anybody when it wasn't part of an act and he downright cowered in front of this guy! Then, he's all uncomfortable and doesn't want to talk about things but this John or whatever just steamrolls over his protests and tells him to get on with it. I didn't think it was _possible_ to steamroll over him!"

Spinner was nodding, the American sniper for once agreeing with the older of the twins.

"It was creepy. I remember hearing the audio. Moriarty was really insistent that we use laser pointers and not actual sniper rifles to make sure no one got hurt. He was fixated on John's disapproval and then he goes off and tells John about how he needs to keep the cell phone on him cause Moriarty wants to be able to reach him to know he's safe. What's up with that?"

Duchess was smiling knowingly, a habit of hers that the others hated. Her soft chuckling brought her to the center of attention.

"It's so cute, how you all are having so much trouble figuring out what's going on. Admittedly, I never expected to see Jim acting like so much of an idiot, but the truth is still painfully obvious."

"Well, then, Oh-Great-One, why don't you enlighten us?"

"He's in love."

The revelation was met with silence, probably because they sat in a room full of emotionally stunted men. Jezebel, though, was nodding slowly as she sat forward, clearly warming to the idea.

"It makes sense. No wonder he was asking me about which tie color would bring out his eyes the other week." She nodded thoughtfully. "I ship it."

"You 'ship' it?"

Fili and Kili were looking at her like she was crazy, but she appeared not to notice.

"Yeah. Jim and John, together, I ship it. I admit, I don't know much about this John fellow, but Moriarty has been like a completely different person since they got together. He's _happy_. Really, that's all that matters to me. Now, we just have to figure out what to call them."

"Call them?"

"Yeah. All the great, famous couples have cute little name combos to represent their relationship. Think of Brad Pitt and Angelina, over in the United States. Theirs is shortened to Brangelina."

"That's disgusting."

Suddenly, Spinner's face lit up.

"Like Peeniss!"

"What the bloody hell, man?!"

Now the twins were looking at him like _he_ was the crazy one.

"Oh, don't gimme that! It's Peeta and Katniss, from The Hunger Games. Don't you two read?"

"Not if we can help it."

"We're getting off topic. We need to figure out what the boss man and the army doc's combo will be!"

Graves was ignoring them again, and Marcus seemed exasperated beyond belief, but everyone else seemed to be taking the situation seriously. Or, at least they were taking as seriously as they could take anything.

"Jiohn? Johim? This is a lot harder with names that start with the same letter."

"Ok. We focus on the last names. Moriarty and…what was the doc's last name again?"

"Watson," Spinner supplied.

"Right. Watson."

"Morson?"

"Moriarson?"

"Watiarty?"

"What if we combine the first name of one with the last name of the other? Like, Jimson?"

"What are they, a type of tea? No." The dark haired man chuckled. "Wow, we suck at this."

"Shut up, Kili. Your brother has a point; we just have to work with it. First of all, the boss man would never let some else's last name be used, not even someone as special as John. He has to be the dominate one, so his last name has to be used. That leaves us with John."

"So what are we left with? Moriohn?"

"Johniarty." They all jumped and spun to look at the doorway, where Moran casually leaned against the door frame. "The combo you're looking for is Johniarty. However, it's irrelevant now because it's over. It was a phase and the boss has moved on. If you value your lives, you will too. He won't react well if any of this reaches his ears."

He cast a stern look among the assassins and a chorus of 'yes, sir's came from around the room. These seven were Jim's favorites of the Deadly Dozen, but they were Hell to deal with sometimes. Like Jezebel Now. With that look in her eye. Moran held back a sigh as she opened her mouth.

"But why is it over, sir? I thought the boss man really liked John, and then John went and risked his life to save him…why would he leave after that?"

"It's not your place to question what Moriarty does or who he chooses to spend his time with." There was a pause as Moran teetered on the edge of a decision that could either go very well, or get him killed. "I'm not about to divulge any of our boss's thought processes. But if I were, I might indicate that Jim left because he was too attached to John, not because he didn't care enough."

A smile slipped onto Duchess's face and she looked, for all the world, like a grandmother humoring her grandkids.

"So, were you to divulge such information, it would be logical for us to take that to mean Jim-dear had left because he thought his presence threatened John's safety. After all, he did leave right after John got hurt trying to save him."

"I wouldn't be able to confirm it, but it seems like a logical thing to think."

"Now, if you _were_ to tell us these things, which you aren't, could we take that to mean you supported trying to get the couple back together?"

"Even if that were true, there'd be nothing I could do in that arena. It could be that I think Jim was happier with John in his life. It could be that I think this break up is tearing him apart. Either way, my hands would be tied when it came to doing anything because of orders directly from the chief."

"Oh, Sebastian, I always knew you were a softie! You want them together more than any of us!"

A scowl stretched across Moran's face at the swordswoman's words. The mercenary obviously didn't enjoy being called a softie.

"You may be onto something, had I told you any of this. Unfortunately, I didn't. I'm still the hard ass who makes sure you do your jobs right and nothing more. Any information you find out, you'll have to find out on your own."

With that he turned and walked out of the room, leaving many of them gaping after him. Sebastian was an alright guy by any of them, but he never interacted with the other minions any more than necessary. He was Jim's right hand and he always had something to do, so no one ever really saw a social side to him. This revelation, though, wasn't what they needed to be focusing on.

"Alright. So I guess that leaves it up to us to get Jim and John back together. The question is, how?"

Spinner nodded thoughtfully.

"We're going to need more help. No one here actually knows this John guy. We need to get in contact with someone who can give us a better understanding of his situation."

Duchess only continued to smile contentedly.

"It sounds like we need a consult. I know just the man."

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"Be quick. _Don't _be boring."

As Sherlock Holmes sank into the chair across from the woman, he started to regret coming at all. The older woman had sent him a message through his website, asking him to meet her at a café just two blocks from Baker Street. The message had been just cryptic enough to pique his interest without actually giving him any details. Really, he should have been more suspicious.

It was just that he was so desperate to get out of the flat. He wasn't bored. The flat just felt so…suffocating right now. John hadn't been himself since Jim had up and left. He tried to hide it, pretend everything was alright, but the air around him was heavy with his pent up emotions. The only time the flat seemed at ease was when John was at the pub, having a few too many pints. Sherlock often had to call his name multiple times to get his attention, due to how distracted he had been lately.

He'd see something that reminded him of Moriarty (Sherlock had gone back to thinking of the criminal consultant by his last name.) and his mind would just drift off. It irritated Sherlock that his friend was so distracted from the work, but he knew he just had to wait it out and John would go back to normal…he hoped.

So he had taken the case and agreed to the meeting before thinking it all the way through. Now, as he gazed at the older woman in front of him, he regretted it. Really, she was probably only about Mycroft's age, but she had an air about her that made her seem ageless. She smiled pleasantly, but it did nothing to brighten Sherlock's mood.

"Oh, Sherlock, I remember your straightforward attitude fondly. I was hoping you'd still have it."

"So what are you today then? A duchess? Wealthy businesswoman looking to buy someone's death? Or do you not like to repeat yourself?"

"Today I am a concerned employee…and a client. Just call me Duchess, dear. Everyone else does."

"I thought I said not to be boring. Clearly, you didn't hear me."

"So you've figured out why I'm here? Your mind's as quick as ever, I see."

"It really couldn't be more obvious. You work for Moriarty, who has no doubt been irritable and somewhat erratic since moving out of Baker Street so suddenly. Sentiment does that to people." He sneered, not bothering to hide his disdain for the emotion. "It's affected you, too. As a professional, I'd had higher hopes for you than that. You're concerned that Moriarty's behavior will affect his business, but it's more than that. You want him to be happy. How trite."

"So what do I want from you? Obviously, I wouldn't even be here if I didn't want something."

"You've known Moriarty for years and work for him. His level of distress is obvious to you. What you don't know is if John feels the same way. Furthermore, you have no previous contact with John. You can't just approach an ex-military man who works with a consulting detective out of the blue and expect him to trust you. You need someone who knows the current situation and can sway things in your favor. That, Duchess, is why you came to me."

"So what can you tell me?"

"Nothing."

The shocked look on her face make Sherlock's lips twitch into a smile. At least this meeting wasn't a total waste.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not going to tell you anything. You will get no information or help from me. Unlike you, I am not so weighed down by sentiment. John is my partner and, as such, is more valuable to me alive than dead. Jim did the right thing by leaving him. He was a danger to John. As long as they were together, John would be in danger."

"He is in danger almost every day with your cases."

"John chooses to come on the cases. He knows the risks involved."

"He _chose_ to be with Jim."

"He was mistaken."

The glare she leveled at him could have peeled skin from bone, but Sherlock just continued to stare at her, unfazed.

"Alright. Thank you for your time, Mr. Holmes. I think we're done here."

"Finally, we agree on something."

He stood but was stopped when she spoke again.

"You and your brother are much alike, both doing stupid things to avoid sentiment. Someday, I would like to see you both realize how wrong you are."

"Then you will be waiting a very long time."

He could feel her glare on his back as he swept out of the café, coat fluttering behind him. Now, all he had to do was hope this phase John was in would be over soon. The silence in the flat was nearly deafening.

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Mycroft raised a single eyebrow as his office doors swung inward to reveal a woman he hadn't seen in quite a few years. He certainly hadn't expected to see her here. Anthea stood a bit behind her, giving Mycroft a look that was clearly asking if she should remove the woman. His history with the Duchess, he believed that's what she was called now, was before his assistant's time. He waved off her concern and waited until she had closed the doors to greet his unexpected guest.

"Clarisse, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He kissed her on each cheek and guided her to one of the plush chairs before his desk before reclaiming his own seat. She smiled warmly at him, fondness clear in her eyes.

"Always the gentlemen, Mycroft. I wish more of our countrymen had your manners."

"Ah, but then they would not be so appreciated." He spared her a smile, one that felt almost real, before returning to business. "I know you haven't just come here to compliment me. What are you looking for from me? There always was something."

"Not always. This time, though, you are correct." She settled back into her chair and leveled him with one of those gazes that always seemed to shoot straight to his soul. "What do you know about the relationship between John Watson and Jim Moriarty?"

Whatever Mycroft had been expecting, it wasn't that. Silence ruled for a couple beats before he could respond.

"The relationship had lasted some months, but ended rather recently. To tell you the truth, I'm rather relieved. Why do you ask?"

He had avoided keeping a tab on Clarisse after about the first year. He had no idea what she was doing these days, but he highly doubted it was on his side of the law. Whatever she wanted with John and Moriarty's relationship, it was likely to give him a headache and he'd rather know now so as to be prepared.

"Let's just say I have a vested interest in seeing their bond repaired. I have already attempted to hire your brother onto the task, but he has refused me."

"And what makes you think that I will give you a different outcome?"

Her smile was almost pitying and she rose to step around his desk. He noted in an off-hand part of his brain that she was still as graceful as ever. She leaned one hip against the desk reached over to brush some imaginary dust from his shoulder. (Mycroft was absolutely certain there couldn't be actual dust there.)

"I would hope for old time's sake, but I know how you feel about sentiment. Instead, I'll appeal to your logic. How do you think John will be reacting to the loss of Jim Moriarty in his life? Not well, I'm sure. Now, think about what that's going to mean for Sherlock. Your brother is the most important person in the world to you. Maybe you should take a look, for his sake if nothing else." She withdrew a business card from her purse and slipped it into Mycroft's breast pocket. "Here's dear Jim's number…Just in case."

She turned to leave and Mycroft almost let her get away before he found his voice.

"Clarisse?" She made a humming noise and looked back at him. "For what it is worth, I do regret how things ended."

Another of those sad, pitying smiles crossed her lips before she turned away.

"It is the past, Mycroft. Hindsight is always 20/20."

She pulled open his office doors and, not for the first time, Mycroft Holmes watched the most fascinating woman he'd ever met walk away.

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Jezebel hated undercover jobs. She really did. She especially hated undercover jobs that required elaborate appearance chances. Curse the fact that she was the only one of them with the appropriate height. The only thing that kept her from bailing out was keeping up a constant mantra in her mind the she was doing this to get Jim and John back together. Between the makeup, wig, and chest bindings(the twins had jokingly said she wouldn't need them), she was pretty uncomfortable.

It didn't help that she'd been following John Watson and Sherlock Holmes around for hours with no opening to implement their plan. Two hours ago, she'd gotten the text from Duchess saying that Mycroft would be watching, but that didn't mean anything if nothing happened. In response, the members of the Deadly Dozen had devised a plan to make sure something did.

The com unit shoved in her ear cracked a bit before Spinner's voice came over the wave length. Jezebel prayed this was the opportunity for her to at least move out of the alleyway she'd been crouched in for the past twenty minutes. Jim and John were working a case and had entered a factory almost a half hour before to try and find the culprit. The sniper was watching the building while Jezebel waited a few blocks away.

"We've got a winner, folks! We've got a foot race headed in your direction, Bel! Remember, Sherlock can't see you. Try and head for a crowd. There's a busy shopping center five blocks to the west of you."

The swordswoman eagerly moved into position, hiding around corner that gave her access to easy escape routes. The sound of pounding footsteps gave her ample warning as to when her targets where approaching. She watched as an unfamiliar man and then Sherlock flew past the opening to the street she was on before 'casually' stepping out and really being run over by the following John Watson.

They both stumbled but kept their footing. Luckily, Jezebel was just out of reach when John looked up to see who he'd run into.

"Jim?"

Perfect.

Jezebel turned and fled, knowing her disguise would fool him for a quick look, but would never hold up under any kind of scrutiny. Behind her, she could hear John call Jim's name again before giving chase. She ducked down one street after another, a smile nearly splitting her face in half as she heard his footfalls coming after her. Everything was going according to plan.

Up ahead, she could see the crowded shopping center Spinner had told her about. The twins, each sporting a black eye, hung around a white paneled van on the other side of the milling people. The crowd wasn't thick, but it would cause a hassle to anyone trying to get through. Jezebel just hoped she could get to the van before John could get to her. Fili started up the engine just as she was plunging into the shoppers.

Dodging and weaving, she could still hear John calling out behind her. A risky glance over her shoulder revealed that a group of tourists had arrived just in time to cut him off. A ridiculously handsome-looking blonde man at the center of the group wiggled his fingers at Jezebel in a wave and she nearly stumbled in her footsteps. What was _he_ doing here? The ex-soldier was desperately trying to get through the group, but the lost ground meant there was no chance of him catching up.

Jezebel leapt into the open door of the van as soon as she reached it, letting Kili slam the door shut behind as his brother took off. With the mission safely accomplished, she wasted no time in ripping off the various pieces that made up her disguise. She took a few moments to savor her ability to breathe again before touching her earpiece to contact Spinner.

"We're all good here. How are things going your end?"

She could practically here the grin in the sniper's voice.

"Better than we could have hoped for. The suspect pulled a gun on Holmes. The men his brother sent to spy on him had to jump in to keep him from being shot. I think we can safely bet Holmes the elder will be making that call now…"

There were high-fives throughout the van.

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"How did you get this number?"

"You have your sources, Mr. Moriarty, and I have mine. It wouldn't be fair if we just started giving them away, now would it?"

"I'm in no mood for games, Mycroft."

"Clearly. Luckily for us, I'm not in the mood to play around, either. I do have a purpose for calling, after all."

"Then I suggest you get to it."

"John Watson. I want you to go see him."

There was a long pause.

"I thought better of you than this, Mycroft."

"Yes, well, it's a good thing I've never put much stock in your opinion then, isn't it?"

"I should end this call now before it gets any more idiotic."

"You won't though. We both know it. Don't you want to know how your dear John is doing?"

"No. And he isn't my dear anything. Not anymore."

"He's falling apart. Oh, he hides it well, but he's clearly in pain."

"What do you care?"

"I don't. However, it is starting to affect Sherlock, putting him in danger. That, I'm afraid, I cannot allow."

"I guess you'll have to figure it out, then. You're a smart man, I'm sure you can do it. But I'm not going back."

A sigh could be heard from Mycroft's end of the line before he spoke again.

"I really had wished not to use this…I'm calling in my favor."

"Favor? What favor?"

"Surely your second in command told you of the hand I had in your…rescue? I provided CCTV footage and information that, I am reliably informed, lead directly to your salvation. It appears you owe me your life. So, and I do hope you don't make me repeat myself again, I am calling in my favor."

"I should have you gutted."

"Something to think about during your meeting with John. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Mr. Moriarty."

The line disconnected.

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Jim Moriarty stood outside the pub where he and John had their first encounter, well their first encounter that lead to the best sex he'd ever had at least. His intelligence suggested that this was where John was. For his part, Jim was trying not to think about why they'd had the information on John's whereabouts so handy. He entered the pub cautiously, eyes scanning the crowd for signs of the blonde doctor.

He found his prize sitting on the same barstool Jim himself had occupied those months ago and the consulting criminal's eyes greedily drank in the sight of the man he hadn't seen in over a month. A half empty glass of what Jim guessed was whiskey sat before him. Even with his back towards the door, the criminal consultant could tell that John was staring into the glass as if it held all the answers in the world. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, a posture that seemed foreign to the slightly intoxicated man.

Jim felt a twinge in his chest that could have been his heart breaking a little bit more if he wasn't absolutely sure he'd crushed the blasted organ with his decision to leave Baker Street. If Jim were completely honest, something he'd only ever been with himself, he'd admit to missing the man. He'd thought he'd be able to go back to the way things were before John had entered his life. Sure, he expected it to be uncomfortable for a time, but he hadn't anticipated having much of a problem.

Instead, he was constantly dealing with reminders of what he and John had. He couldn't drink tea anymore, not when every cup tasted like swill in comparison to the blogger's. There was no way he could take up the shadier sides of his business again. He constantly had a little voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously familiar that complained about morals and human life. Moreover, he couldn't bear the thought of hurting John any more than he already had.

Seeing the man before him, beaten down by emotion, multiplied the pain Jim was already feeling. For someone who had never felt guilt in his life, the consulting criminal felt surrounded by it now. It suffocated him and he cursed Mycroft Holmes in his mind for his stupid meddling. That being said, Jim Moriarty respected the power of favors, and he would follow through on this one.

Nervousness bubbled in his stomach as he approached the blonde and slid onto the stool next to him, reminding him distinctly of that first conversation.

"I'd ask what you're doing here, but I doubt you'd tell me."

John's voice was low, missing all of its usual strength. It startled Jim to hear the ex-soldier sound so small. It was unnatural. His heart was torn between joy and twisted pain as John uttered the same words he had before. He's been more prepared for John to punch him. It felt like his entire ribcage was collapsing inward, as John couldn't even match his gaze.

"I did it to protect you, you know. I'd only put you in danger. I couldn't let you get hurt again."

It wasn't what he'd meant to say, but it spilled out of his mouth anyway. Honestly, he had no idea what he was going to say, anyway. He'd been too struck by John's drastic change in demeanor. He hadn't been watching John back when he'd first arrived home from Afghanistan, just the blonde had told him stories of how broken he had been. Even then, he hadn't imagined anything as bad as this.

A bitter smile split John's face like a nasty gash. There was no trace of the steady man Jim had become so used to. He didn't recognize the man in front of him.

"Yeah, well, pretty crap job you did of that. I'd prefer getting shot again, thanks."

Jim winced at the words, hating the mental image they painted for him. He'd known he would hurt John, but John could do better. He deserved better.

"You don't need me."

"I _want_ you. Don't I get a say in this at all?" He laughed harshly, more a forceful exhale than an actual laugh. "But I suppose it's too late for that now."

Jim could feel the denials bubbling up in his throat, the apologies and begs for forgiveness threatening to spill over, but he held them back. He had to stay strong. Perhaps John was in pain, but he was alive. For all his genius brain, he couldn't think of a thing to say, so he just said John's name.

For the first time during their conversation, if you could call it that, John raised his eyes from the bar and met Jim's own. They clouded over with heart break and an agony Jim could only understand because he had felt it himself after removing the last of his things from Baker Street. They held agony and despair that couldn't be expressed with words.

The only thing left in Jim's chest was a gaping cavity of raw anguish. As he stared into John's eyes, he felt as though someone were thrusting a hot poker into that cavity and twisting it, just for good measure. Absolutely not, John was not allowed to wear that expression. He wouldn't let him.

"I don't understand. You could do better. I'm no good for you, John."

Now that the blonde had made eye contact, he seemed emboldened. The lines of his face turned hard, pain still etched in each one. Now though, there was strength there to run beside it. His eyes didn't waver from Jim's face and he pinned the other man down with his glare.

"What we have isn't about good or bad, Jim. It's about meeting each other's needs. I _need_ you…but I guess that feeling wasn't mutual." Here his eyes flickered down again before the soldier in him pulled them back up. "I get that, you know?"

Jim just stared at the man. How could he possibly think that the criminal didn't need him just as much? If anything, he was the one being detrimental to John. John was the only person he'd met that had ever truly been able to fascinate him for any length of time. He held so many contradictions without straying even an inch from his personal views. No person existed who could call John Watson a hypocrite.

He also had the stunning effect of making Jim want to be a better person in general, which was a miracle in and of itself. He'd never felt emotions before, other than anger and irritation. Now, though, Jim felt as though every moment of his life was spent on fire.

John had brought him that. John had this way about him that just drew others in. He never did it on purpose, but those around him gravitated towards him. It would have been a great quality for a dictator, or if John had chosen to turn his life towards the criminal element, like Jim had. But that wasn't John.

Now, to hear him say that he believed Jim hadn't felt the same way, didn't _still_ feel the same way…and he hadn't even stopped talking yet.

"I'm boring, normal. I know that. I'll never have the skills to keep you occupied. I'm a wounded army-vet who can't even find a place to live without a flat mate." A sound forced its way from his throat that could have been a laugh, were it not so infused with bitterness. "You need stimulation, a constant puzzle. I can't give that to you. I'm no genius, Jim, not like you and Sherlock. The two of you operate on a whole different level." For the first time in the conversation, the pain seemed to lift from John's face. It was replaced by a look of sheer awe. "It's amazing, watching your mind work. Really, I'm lucky I got that chance." He looked Jim dead in the eyes and suddenly all the pain was back. "Thank you, for giving me that chance."

John withdrew some bills from his wallet and set them on the bar before standing. Jim's mind was still reeling from everything he'd just revealed. (Not so brilliant now, that brain of his.) Only one thing stuck out in his mind. John was leaving. John was leaving him.

The tiny part of his brain that still functioned made a mental note of how ridiculous it was that he had left John to protect him and had expected him to be okay, but when John walked away from him, he nearly panicked. Before he could stop it his hand shot out to grab the other's arm, halting his movement.

"Don't."

The word came out more as a plea than anything else and Jim cursed himself for being so weak. John's face was riddled with surprise and a plea of his own. It was clear that part of the blonde wanted so bad for this to be Jim taking everything back. The other part just wanted Jim to let it go and stop torturing him. Every man had his limits, after all.

Jim couldn't stand it. He moved one hand up to grasp the collar of the sweater John was wearing, knotting his fingers into the fabric. When he spoke, his voice brooked no argument.

"Don't you _ever_ think I don't love you again. You are _everything_ to me, John Watson."

And then he yanked the blonde man down to crash their lips together.

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John's back slammed into the pub's bathroom wall as the consultant criminal pressed after him, barely taking a moment to lock the door behind him. Their hands were everywhere, trying desperately to express the emotions they couldn't with words. Need, desire, _love_.

Lips crashed together with an almost vicious brutality. Their self-imposed separation was lighting up every little sensation now. When John tugged the hem of Jim's shirt out of his pants and his thumb snuck up under to brush lightly against the skin of his waist Jim's knees almost buckled and he moaned deep into the other's mouth. In turn, John swallowed the moan and only tried to pull Jim closer. They wanted to consume each other completely.

The bathroom itself was a less than glorious environment for their happy reunion, but it would serve their purpose. It was a single occupancy room, sparse and utilitarian. A urinal and toilet stood against one wall with the sink opposite. Jim had John pressed up between the two, the closest surface after entering. The safety hand rail bit into John's back but neither seemed to notice, nor did either spare much of a thought to the sanitation of their current position.

Jim's lips moved from John's mouth, along his jaw, and down his neck. There, he yanked the collar of John's button up to the side, sending buttons flying, and set about licking, kissing, sucking, and biting any piece of skin he could reach. The blonde's head rolled to the side to give his lover great access and, through slit eyes, caught their reflection in the mirror.

Their bodies were so closely pressed together that it was impossible to tell where one body ended and the other began. Their legs intertwined so that he couldn't identify which leg belonged to which individual. Jim's face was pressed into the side of John's neck and for a moment he mused that they looked like a single being. A sharp bite drew the blonde's thoughts back to their current situation and a gasp filled the air.

Jim's teeth bit down only briefly before the pressure was gone to be replaced by the soothing rasp of his tongue. His dark voice rumbled in a cooing sound. His eyes sought John's own in the mirror's reflection as he brought one leg up between them to press teasingly against the doctor's erection. Everything about him exuded the cold ferocity and danger that had gotten him so far in the criminal world. This was a man who inspired instant fear and gave grown men nightmares.

"Now everyone will know you belong to _me_. If I cannot stand to be away from you for your protection, I will have to consume you, make you so totally mine that no one will dare touch you again. You are _mine_, John Watson. Do you understand?"

"I've always been yours…and I always will be."

Any communication ceased as their lips crashed together once more. The doctor in John dimly registered the likelihood of his entire neck being bruised to near blackness in the morning, but the thought only made his smile into the kiss. It would be proof that this really happened; that he had Jim _back_. He was whole again.

Jim's hands wormed their way between the two men to reach John's top button, which would really be his fifth button if Jim hadn't sent the others shooting across the bathroom earlier. He tried to coax it back through its hole for approximately half a second before snarling and ripping through the last of John's shirt. He'd been out of contact with that smooth, tan skin for far too long. The last month had left him starving and thirsty like a man lost in the dessert. He wanted to taste and touch every inch of the glorious body in front of him.

If he were being completely honest, he would admit that he needed the reassurance that this was real just as much as John did. However, Jim hadn't made it to the top of the criminal world by being honest. Luckily for him, John knew him too well for such games. His arms came up behind the consultant, slipping under his dress shirt where it hung out of his pants and pulling him closer. The blonde bit down on the other's lip as he drug his fingers down Jim's back, nails digging in to leave long, painful marks.

Jim arched his back, inadvertently breaking off their kiss and groaned loudly as their hips ground together. John smirked and his eyes held a dark look that drove the brunette insane, or would have if he wasn't already there.

"That's what you get. Trying to leave me? I didn't appreciate it. You know you're going to have to pay for that, right? If I remember correctly, I _did_ win you at an auction."

His hands gripped tightly on Jim's hips, rolling his own to create more friction between them. Jim's own hands were clenched around the fabric covering the doctor's biceps. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to hold back the moan. He pressed his nose into John's neck and nuzzled gently.

"I guess I should get started on my apology, then."

Jim slid down his lover's body, obscenely close, until he was squatting back on his heels, face level with John's crotch. Despite the discomfort of his current position, he wasn't about to let his knees touch the floor. He leaned forward to nuzzle John through his pants, eliciting a long moan from the other man. At this rate, someone was going to hear them before they even got to the main attraction.

His hands reached up to make short work of John's leather belt, though he didn't bother even pulling it from the loops of his belt. The button of the blonde's trousers, unlike those on his shirt, managed to stay attached despite Jim's rough treatment and the brunette was soon pulling John's trousers and underwear down to reveal his hard member, already dripping pre-cum.

Jim licked him lips in anticipation, having missed the sight of the beautiful organ. His eyes drifted up, admiring John's body along the way, to meet the other's hungry eyes. Pupils blown wide with desire, the blonde looked as if he would explode if the consultant didn't take him into his mouth right that second.

Who was Jim to deny him?

His first taste was as he ran him tongue along the bottom, base to tip, lapping away every bit of pre-cum he encountered. It was every bit as delicious as he remembered. Once he reached the tip, he made sure to drag the rough flat of his tongue across it. A glance upwards revealed that John's eyes were closed, head rolling back against the wall. His hands twitched as he resisted burying his fingers in Jim's hair.

He frowned at the show of self-control. That just wouldn't do. Quickly, he slipped two fingers into his own mouth and wet them as much as possible in a few seconds. His other hand stroked John so as not to raise the blonde's suspicion. As soon as he felt they were properly lubricated, or at least as much so as he could do with current circumstances, he returned his mouth to John's cock.

He slid the length into his mouth, tongue lapping at every inch. As he distracted John on one end, he reached his hand around to slide between the cheeks of John's arse. While the blonde noticed this, he didn't react much, even when Jim teased the rim of his hole with a single finger. His mind was much too occupied with what was going on with his front.

That was, at least, until Jim slid the first finger in. John's hips jolted forward, smoothly sheathing himself fully inside Jim's waiting mouth. Humming appreciatively around the blonde's cock, Jim slipped in a second finger and began a scissoring motion to prepare his partner for the next level. It wasn't long before the doctor's self-control snapped and those tan fingers were buried in black hair.

For his part, John was awash with physical stimulation. He'd always been rather mobile during anything sexual. Here, though, he was sandwiched between two unbelievable sensations. Pushing his hips forward slid him deeper into Jim's mouth and moving back pushed the fingers deeper into his ass. It didn't help matters that Jim obviously knew exactly what he was doing. If it weren't for his hands in the other's hair and the railing at his back, the ex-soldier likely would have lost his legs and slid to the floor.

He could feel the coiling sensation building in his stomach, the tell-tale sign of what was to come. He opened his mouth to warm Jim, but the words were stolen as the brunette gave and extra-strong suck, effectively turning whatever John was going to say into a long, drawn out moan. The blonde was right on the edge, ready to tip over, when Jim pulled back. His mouth released John's cock with a soft 'pop' and his fingers slid smoothly from the other's arse.

A whine escaped John's throat that he would have been horribly embarrassed by in any other situation. As it was, he was too focused on getting Jim back inside him to bother with such silly emotions. The criminal smiled lecherously up at the blonde before rising up to meet him in another kiss. As with previous times, John didn't seem to mind the taste of himself on Jim's lips.

Kicking off one leg of his trousers, John attempted to devour Jim's lips. The criminal didn't mind in the slightest as his own hands were busy pulling himself free of his pants. He pulled back long enough to spit into his own hand a couple of times and spread it over his own member. This may be improvised, but he wanted to make the experience as pleasant for John as possible and any lubricant was better than none.

He lined the head of his cock up with the other's entrance, John lifting the leg he'd freed from his trousers to rest atop the toilet. Slowly, he added pressure until he felt the bundle of nerves give way and allow him inside. John hissed in pain and the consultant paused, giving him time to adjust before pushing any further. Slowly, the tight heat of John's arse consumed him, testing his own control. It wasn't long before he was fully seated inside the other man.

Deep breathes were the closest he could come to keeping calm and he did so with his forehead resting upon John's shoulder, a now familiar mantle. There was little he wanted more than to just begin thrusting madly into the blonde, but that wouldn't do anything but hurt them both. It wasn't until he felt John's hips rock against his own that he began to move again. Soon, Jim's pre-cum would create enough lubricant to facilitate the break neck pace he so desired.

He hooked one arm under John's knee and pulled it up until the leg rested on his shoulder, forcing the blonde to lean back into the wall and affording a better angle for Jim's thrusts. They began slowly but picked up pace as he felt the tight warmth slicking up for him. Oh, God, how he had missed this…

It wasn't long before he was thrusting into the other man with abandon, both moaning wildly. Their panting filled the room along with the slap of flesh against flesh as they drove their hips together again and again. John used the wall as leverage to push back into Jim as hard as he could, meeting each powerful thrust with equal enthusiasm. In some dim part of his mind, Jim realized that anyone even walking past the bathroom door would be able to hear them but he really couldn't bring himself to care.

Let them hear. He'd been without his doctor for far too long to worry about some nobody sticking their nose in where it didn't belong. As long as they were uninterrupted, everything was fine. There were not enough threats in the world to describe what Jim would do if someone were to interrupt them now. Really, though, he couldn't concentrate on such things.

This time, Jim was the one to look sideways into the mirror. John's head was thrown back, mouth wide and face flushed with exertion. The brunette didn't look much better as he pounded away madly into the other's arse. God, how he had needed this. Perspiration dripped down both of their necks, giving their hair a damp, messy look.

It was sexy as Hell.

Reaching between them, Jim took hold of John's cock and began pumping in time to his thrusts, elevating the blonde's moans to a whole new level. Tan skin writhed beneath him and the criminal could feel as the muscles jumped and twitched at the promise of the approaching release. With a final bellow, the blonde came, shooting ropes of cum across his own chest and the front of Jim's dress shirt.

With John's arse tightening so deliciously around him, Jim didn't last much longer. Only a couple thrusts into the constricting heat and he was coming undone himself, groaning as he unloaded inside of his lover.

The two stayed there, panting, for several minutes, John's leg still slung over Jim's shoulder. He was sure to feel that in the morning. The brunette trailed lazy kisses along John's shoulder as he slowly set the limb down and slid out. His eyes rose to meet John's.

"I love you."

He'd said the words for the first time earlier in the bar and, as he had then, knew they were the truth as he spoke them. The feeling had been there for a while, but it took nearly losing John for him to realize was it really meant. The blonde just gave him a blinding smile.

"I love you, too, Jim."

A/N: So what did everyone think? I know, I know, there's a lot to take in with this chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed The Deadly Dozen, at least. They are an idea I have been working on for a while and I am likely to write a series of shorts about them, one dedicated to each character and their back stories. Let me know if anyone is interested in reading that!

Also, let's take a moment to talk about this sex scene, if you don't mind. I really tried to draw the foreplay out longer than I usually do, because it's what I like when I read smut. Does it work here? I feel it almost may make the actual sex feel kind of rushed. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know! I am always looking to improve.

Now that we are done with this arch, we can get back to the rest of the story. We have a couple more before it's done, and I am pretty sure I know what I am going to do, but I am still taking suggestions and requests. (Who knows? I may even extend it by a few more chapters.)

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far! I cannot begin to express how much your support means to me! I keep getting outstanding reviews and I can't help but want to do better for you! You all flatter me! See you next chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I took the time to flush out the entire rest of the story before posting this chapter! Also, one of my ho's kept distracting me. Now, on with the story!

Forgiveness

When John's eyes blinked open, he immediately wished he were still asleep. His head throbbed and any light at all only served to ramp up the pain. He groaned and threw an arm over his face, hoping to go back to sleep. Obviously, he wasn't as young as he used to be and he'd drunk more that he should have at the pub the night before.

His lips twitched as he thought of that night, how Jim had shown up out of nowhere. Their…reunion was memorable to say the least and exactly what they needed. John hummed in pleasure at the thought and reached an arm across the bed to search for the warmth of this partner. He and Jim had left the pub to return to Baker Street. (And have a few more rounds of sex before falling unconscious in John's bed.)

The edge of his mouth was just starting to pull down in a confused frown when his fingers brushed against skin. The bed dipped as Jim crawled back in beside him, pressing kisses to his still-closed eyes. Nimble fingers brushed against his temple and down his cheeks, easing away stress and seeming to draw the hangover right out of him. John peeked his eyes open to peer up at his newly-returned partner. Jim was smiling softly down at him.

"You're meant to still be asleep. With how much you drank last night, I expected you to be out till noon."

John's hand came up to skim the side of Jim's neck before fisting a hand in the other's hair and pulling him down. The blonde buried his nose under the other's chin and kissed the skin there lazily, nuzzling along his throat. He was awake, but that didn't mean he had any intentions of getting up…well, in a manner of speaking.

"Army. We'd try and drown ourselves almost every night and still had to report for duty at 0500. Oh, and Uni. I drank a lot in Uni. Built up a tolerance."

John felt the chuckle that bubbled up from Jim's chest. The criminal consultant was clearly amused by this hint of a wilder age in John's past. He would have to remember to ask Moran not to share any of the more embarrassing stories.

"Do you have any Irish in you?"

The question caught John off guard and he had to pause to think about it. His family had not been much into genealogy.

"I don't think so…"

"Would you like to?"

It was almost shameful how much joy there was on Jim's face at having been able to pull off his cheesy pick up line. John just groaned and nipped the man gently, not even hard enough to leave a mark.

"That was bad, even for you."

"Haven't you heard? I'm a bad man."

John's groan that time was more pronounced and he dropped his hand from behind his lover's head.

"I'm too hung over to deal with this."

The brunette just smiled at him and all but bounced across to bed to reach for a tray that John had failed to notice on the side table. It was laden with fruit and various baked goods. John thought he recognized Mrs. Hudson's strawberry scones and eyed them greedily. A plate of toast and a jar of jam also crowded the tray's surface. Jim's grin only widened as the doctor's stomach growled loudly.

"Mrs. Hudson helped me get everything together. She said that I better be coming back or she was going to send me the same way as her husband. Should I be worried?"

"Probably."

John snagged a scone and stuffed it in his mouth, finally sitting up to rest his back against the headboard. He almost moaned as the strawberry jam she mixed throughout the dough burst in his mouth. Jim set the tray over his knees and kissed the side of John's mouth, flicking a tongue out to remove a stray bit of jam.

"Keep making noises like that and we may have a repeat of last night…"

"Should I tell Sherlock the bathroom will be unusable for a while?"

The statement made Jim frown as he settled in beside the blonde, picking up a slice of apple and nibbling on one end.

"He won't be happy I'm back."

Now it was John's turn to frown.

"I thought you two were finally starting to get along."

"We were. Then I left and he understood and agreed with my reasons for doing so, even though it hurt you. I know him well enough to know that. I wanted to protect you and leaving was the best way of doing that. He and I both thought you would get over it. I couldn't stand watching you in that much pain, though. I can't live without you. So I've come back and, in the end, that means all the pain I caused you was pointless. That, to both Sherlock and myself, is unacceptable."

The warm, light-hearted atmosphere from earlier was gone, smothered under a blanket of painful memories of the past five weeks. Jim had gone morose, no trace of his usual vibrant attitude. His eyes were darkened and the hand holding the apple slice rested in his lap, forgotten. John eyed his lover, trying to decide whether or not to let him stew. Was he ready to forgive him?

The answer was yes. He couldn't stay mad at Jim, not with the look on his face. Instead, John leaned over and placed a sloppy, jam-covered kiss to his cheek. The reaction was immediate. With a jolt that nearly toppled the breakfast tray from off John's knees, Jim fell off the edge of the bed and ended up on his arse on the floor, staring at John in utter surprise.

"Is that what this is about? The cuddling and the breakfast? You're doing it because you feel guilty?"

Jim's eyes were downcast, reminding John distinctly of the time he'd stormed New Scotland Yard to return the doctor's mobile. With a sigh, the blonde shifted the tray of goodies onto the side table nearest and leaned across the bed to peer into Jim's face. He reached a hand out to tilt the other's chin up, warmth flooding through him at the sticky smear on his cheek.

"Once again, Jim, we are faced with the issue that, even though you are a genius, you are an utter idiot. You've already been forgiven. I'm just glad you're back."

There were still traces of doubt in Jim's eyes, but he rose up on his knees to kiss John anyway. Their lips moved against each other, tasting of jam and sugar. They kissed lazily for several minutes before breaking apart. Jim smiled at him, eyes now sparkling.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Now come back to bed. I've only got," John glanced at the clock, "two more hours before I have to go to work."

Jim paused, having been in the middle of climbing back into the bed. John instantly felt suspicion stirring. The consultant hesitated only a moment before kissing him lightly on the lips and reaching past him for a piece of toast.

"I called the clinic earlier and let them know you'd be out. I thought you should get the rest. You've been driving yourself into the ground lately."

John just gaped at him, suddenly sitting up.

"But the clinic needs me! They call me in when they don't have someone to cover! I can't just call out like that!"

Jim just munched on the toast.

"Don't worry. I got someone to cover for you. Graves is an excellent doctor. Not as good as you, but that's to be expected. He's plenty good enough to fill in at a general practice."

John sighed and closed his eyes. The sentiment was sweet, really, and he appreciated the thought, even if Jim's methods were questionable. After all, he'd been living and working with Sherlock long enough to know when to just let something go. Geniuses though Jim and Sherlock were, they could be right idiots at times.

"I suppose one day out won't hurt, though I hope you haven't inconvenienced Graves too much with this."

The blonde could practically feel the air around them freeze with the tension that suddenly filled the room. His eyes snapped open to glare at the criminal consultant who managed to look sheepish and hopeful at the same time.

"What did you do?"

Jim coughed, clearly stalling.

"I may have, possibly, thought you needed a good amount of rest and there might have been some selfish motivation to spend time with you since it had been so long. It was done out of love, though, I promise."

John grit his teeth.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

Jim was looking anywhere but at the doctor.

"I called you out of work."

"Yes, we went over that."

"…For the rest of the week."

"Jim! I have bills! And responsibilities! You can't just do that without asking me first!"

The blonde's anger probably would have turned into a rant if the criminal mastermind hadn't turned a hurt puppy face towards the ground. His shoulders were hunched in an attempt to make himself look smaller. It was a common enough reaction when one was faced with the full force of Captain John Watson. It had been one of John's greatest assets in the RAMC.

Seeing that look on Jim though, made John immediately deflate. He sighed and reached out a hand to slide through Jim's hair. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss upon his brow.

"Just…ask me next time, alright?"

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"John! How good to hear from you! Want to get dinner?"

"Jim, I was just looking at the telly in the waiting room at work. Do you know what I saw?"

There was a pause.

"It's not as bad as it sounds-"

"The reported said it was a suspected terrorist attack!"

"Well that's their fault for not thinking before reporting. That's the problem these days, no one thinks anymore. What kind of self-respecting terrorist group would attack a Tesco's?"

John almost missed the few weeks after the two had gotten back together when Jim seemed to jump at any small sign of disapproval from the doctor. He'd seemed terrified of losing the man again, but this return of his usual sassy manner was not making the blonde's mood any better.

"I'm still wondering why _you_ did! Somebody could have been hurt!"

"Please, John, you can hardly expect me not to have thought of that. I told the twins to only damage the equipment; no human casualties."

"The twins?"

"From my Deadly Dozen. Really, I must introduce you sometime."

"Deadly Dozen? Wha-You know, it's not even the point. The point is: Why in the _Hell_ would you blow up a Tesco's?!"

"Is that what they're saying? How boring. I did _not_ blow up a Tesco's. I simply eliminated those pesky chip n' pin machines."

A brief silence followed the statement. When John spoke again, it was with that dangerous kind of calm that meant all Hell was about the break loose.

"The news said the location hit was on Canal Street…I generally stop there on the way to work to grab lunch."

"Yes, well, the regular registers should still be perfectly operational. It shouldn't interfere with your routine in the slightest."

"Jim…This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the fact that I had a row with one of those very same machines just this morning, would it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a long pause, stretching until Jim started to think that the other may have hung up.

"John?"

"We're not having dinner tonight."

"What? Why-"

"_And_ you're going to reimburse Tesco's for the money needed to get new chip n' pin machines. I'll call you tomorrow."

Without any further goodbye, John hung up the phone, fuming. Only a minute later his phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

_Money transferred. Those machines are still insufferable, though._ _Love you. –JM _

With a small smile he fired one off in return.

_Love you, too. Are you free for dinner tomorrow? –JW_

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"Honestly, Anderson, sometimes I wonder how you managed to make it this far in life without killing yourself through sheer stupidity. I would have thought Darwinism would have caught up to you by now."

John heaved a sigh as Sherlock and Anderson got into yet another contest of insults. Really, he wasn't sure if he could pick one or the other as being more childish. It seemed that anytime the two were in the same room together they had to pick a fight. But, no, Sherlock was too insufferable to stop the insults and Anderson was too, well, Anderson to know when to just let it go and walk away. (Which didn't at all help the Sherlock situation.)

The occasion which brought them together this time was the body of a young teenager, perhaps 15 or so, found in a completely locked house. The house itself had been abandoned for some time and it had appeared as though no one had disturbed the original locks the owner had put on. The only reason the body had been found so quickly was that the owner had decided to fix the house up to try and sell. He had come by that morning to look at the state of things and to make a list of what needed to be done.

John's phone beeped and he flicked it open. The expected text from Jim made a ghost of a smile flash across his face.

_Looking forward to tonight. Love you. –JM_

As John fired off a text in return, he caught a couple of the uniformed Yarders whispering to each other and glancing in his direction. His brows knotted together. He'd been on his phone at crime scenes before. Surely it wouldn't make that much of a difference. The blonde almost jumped as Sherlock's voice came unexpectedly from right behind him. At some point, he'd apparently quit his spat with Anderson to turn his attention back to John.

"They believe your ties to Moriarty compromise you as a dependable consultant, that he has either corrupted you or that you've been hiding a dark side. The other theory, which is more popular I might add, is that he is taking advantage of your naïve and trusting nature. They seem to be under the impression that you think he can change."

"He _has_ changed, I'll have you know. And I am not naïve!"

The look Sherlock gave him was condescending at best.

"Proclamations like that aren't going to help the situation, to be sure. Perhaps you should try using a few more facts and a little less blind denial?"

John bit back his report that he had plenty of facts and Sherlock could have a great time deducing just exactly where he could shove them. He was not Anderson. He would not rise to the challenge. When he did speak, though, his tone was still clipped with irritation.

"What about you, then? Solved the case already?"

This caused a huff of irritation to leave the brunette.

"Anderson in all his bumbling idiocy has made a mess of the scene with all his useless equipment. I gave him two minutes to clear it out or I start chucking it out the windows."

"Surely Lestrade isn't going to allow that."

"Certainly not. But the threat will still get him moving faster."

"Umm…Excuse me, Dr. Watson?"

One of the uniformed officers who had entered the room during their conversation stood awkwardly nearby. All of the other officers in the room were trying, and failing horribly, to pretend not to listen in.

"Yes?"

"There's a, uh, delivery for you, sir, at the police line."

John shot a questioning look at Sherlock but was simply ignored for his trouble.

"Alright. Lead the way then, I guess."

The trio headed outside to where the police tape cordoned off the area. Standing right outside of the police tape was a nervous-looking florist, large bouquet in hand. Much to John's horror and Sherlock's glee, the officer led them straight for him.

"This is Dr. Watson."

Relief shone clear on the florists face and he all but shoved the bouquet into John's arms. Clearly, he was not used to delivering flowers to crime scenes.

"For you, sir. The sender wanted to make sure you kept them away from," here he paused and checked a note, "Anderson as his face is, 'likely to put off the bouquet.' Other than that, he wishes to remain anonymous."

John shot a glare at Sherlock. If he had done this just to get a dig in at Anderson…But the consulting detective simply raised his eyebrows at the look and shook his head in that regal manner of his.

"Wrong genius. This will do nothing to win him back into my good books."

Despite the brunette's words, John's could pick up the traces of amusement hidden away in the angles of his face. Though John didn't have much of a fondness for big, public displays such as this, he understood that Jim did and so couldn't fault him. Just so long as Jim didn't start making this a regular thing.

Thanking the florist, John lead Sherlock back inside. He glanced around and finally settled for leaving the flowers in the kitchen, where they would be out of the way of the investigation and he could come back for them later. That taken care of, he turned back to his unruly genius of a flat mate.

"I'd reckon it's been about two minutes then, wouldn't you? Shall we go see how far along Anderson's got?"

A smile tugged at the edge of Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh, you must really dislike public displays if you're willing to throw someone else to the wolves just to divert attention."

Not leaving time for a retort, the brunette turned in a swirl of coat and ascended the stairs to the crime scene. Anderson was just moving out the last of his equipment when they arrived and sent Sherlock a heated glare. Lestrade just rolled his eyes from his position by the body.

"Alright, there you go. I've catered to your bloody whims. What can you tell me about what happened here?"

Clearly, the DI had about as little patience for Sherlock today as the younger Holmes had for Anderson. John supposed he could understand. Having to deal with the consultant so often had a way of wearing on the nerves. That is not, of course, to say that John would change him. He was still his best friend.

Sherlock, thankfully, ignored the DI's less-than-cordial tone and instead set about examining the crime scene. He buzzed about the room, energy radiating from his very pores. He was kneeling in front of the window, taking a closer look at something on the sill and completely ignoring the body, when the door opened and Donovan stormed in.

The woman appeared to be in an even worse mood than usual, which was saying something. Her usual frown was pulled down into a full blown scowl and her eyes glinted with anger. John had to hold back a sigh. It looked like he wouldn't be getting any breaks today. Her gaze only hardened upon seeing Sherlock.

"Oi! What's the freak doing here?"

The consultant barely spared her a glance.

"It's a pleasure as always, Donovan. How I have missed your sparkling personality."

"Oh, shut it, you! I bet that bloody flower shop downstairs is your fault!"

Now the brunette's gaze snapped to her and he rose to his full height.

"It's one bouquet."

Lestrade looked between the two.

"What flower shop?"

"So it _is_ your fault. It looks like a garden exploded in the kitchen, sir. Flowers everywhere."

John moaned pitifully, praying to whatever deity may listen that this was just some cruel joke. Sherlock, however, was looking positively gleeful. Clue apparently forgotten, he crossed the room in three long strides to tower over the sergeant.

"Show me."

With obvious disgust, Donovan turned and headed back down the stairs. Sherlock followed eagerly after with the rest trailing behind like wayward ducklings. John almost didn't want to look. Donovan's yell of, "What the bloody Hell is _this_?" from the bottom of the stairs didn't help matters. The blonde's worst fears were confirmed as he stepped into the living room.

There were flowers _everywhere_. They littered the chairs and the countertops. Bouquets and arrangements lined the walls and were stacked in the corner.

As the group stood at the bottom of the stairs stunned by the floral assault, the front door opened and the same officer from earlier stepped inside with yet another display. Lestrade shouldered his way to the front and drew himself up.

"What's going on here?"

His tone was sharp and made the officer jump to attention, a sight that would have been funny in any other situation, especially considering that he was still carrying the flowers. As it was, though, John just wanted to die of mortification.

"Th-they just keep getting delivered, sir! I think every florist in London has dropped off a bouquet!"

Oh, yes. John would be having quite a chat with Jim about appropriate behavior.

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"I just don't get it! I mean, what am I doing wrong?"

Jim flopped exasperatedly into his plushy chair and rolled his head to the side to look at his companion.

"The problem is he always starts out seeming to enjoy it. How do I know what I'm supposed to do or not supposed to do? It's not like I've had a lot of experience when it comes to relationships." He pouted. "It's never been something I've been _interested_ in, never seemed worth the effort. Now, I don't have the proper data."

He wrinkled his nose at the thought of how much that last part sounded like Sherlock. Their brief camaraderie, Jim didn't want to call it a friendship, had left him with several bad habits. He was shaken from his thoughts by several muffled grunts coming from the chair next to him.

"Oh! You're absolutely right. How could I forget my manners?"

He jumped out of his own chair to rip the duct tape off his companion's mouth. The middle-aged man spit out the wad of cloth and gasped for air. Really, some people could just be so dramatic. The man's dark hair was speckled with grey and a fold of stomach hung heavy over his belt. He wasn't fat, per se, but he could definitely benefit from a couple trips to the gym. His suit was rumpled and dirty, on the expensive side but not top tier. His fear filled eyes flickered around the room.

"Please, Mr. Moriarty! Please, I'll do anything. I'll give you whatever you want! Just don't kill me!"

Jim just gave an exasperated huff.

"Boring! You _stole_ from me, Mr. Whinestone. Did you really think you'd be able to get away with that?"

"I'm so sorry! So sorry! I don't know what I was thinking! I promise it'll never happen again!"

"Oh, whatever. I'm not interested in talking about your petty problems right now. I have more important things to think about." He fell back into him chair and picked up a cup and saucer from the tea set placed between the two gentlemen. (Mr. Whinestone wouldn't be getting any tea, seeing as his arms and legs were duct taped to his chair.) "This issue I'm having with John; I need it taken care of. You're married, correct, Mr. Whinestone?"

The unfortunate businessman nodded dumbly, clearly not knowing exactly where this was going. When Moriarty's men had shown up and grabbed him, he'd been sure he was going to die. Now he was sitting with the man he'd never met and talking about his relationship? It made no bloody sense. Jim, though, seemed to think it was a natural setting for such a conversation.

"And you're happy, you and the missus?"

"I, uh, like to think so. We've been married almost twenty years now, together for twenty-three. Please, she'll be worried about me."

Jim nodded thoughtfully, completely disregarding the last bit of the other's statement.

"How do you do it?"

"I'm sorry?"

The mastermind made a frustrated gesture with one hand, the other keeping his tea steady.

"How do you keep her happy? How do you tell when you should do something or not do something? How do you even know what it is you're supposed to do?"

His companion blinked several times, still trying to wrap his head around the situation.

"We, um, talk about it? I guess?" Jim's disapproving and condescending look had him scrambling for a better answer. "Big picture things, I mean. Like, we talk about it if we're planning a holiday or something. And we do a date night! Every week there's a night we set aside to go out together. It keeps the romance alive, you know?"

Mr. Whinestone took Moriarty's thoughtful nod as approval of sorts and kept going. Right now, this insane conversation was the only thing between him and a surely painful death.

"The important thing to remember is that you have to make them feel appreciated."

He didn't realize his mistake until Jim shot up from his chair to tower over him. His expression snapped from one of thoughtful preoccupation to livid anger. His entire body quivered with built up aggression and Mr. Whinestone could do nothing but cower before him.

"You think I do not show John my appreciation? I _lavish_ him with attention. He is my _world_ and I treat him as such! Last month he had a row with a chip n' pin machine! He's a full grown man and he can't even use an automated teller!" He blew air heavily out of his nose, clearly a sign of amusement. However, it lasted only a moment before the displeasure was back, this time mocking.

"Do you know what I did? No? Oh, come on, surely you can guess." He paused only a moment, not long enough for the other to actually form a response. "I blew _it __**up**_!" The last word was shouted, causing it to ring throughout the room. Matthew Whinestone jumped in his chair. His terror wouldn't have let him speak even if he'd known what to say. Instead, Jim's voice continued to reverberate around the room.

"That, however, is apparently considered, 'a bit not good.' Instead of being happy with the gesture, he demands I fiscally compensate the store and ensure that everything gets fixed. Apparently the news reported it as a suspected terrorist's attack, totally blew it out of proportion." His opinion of the news station which had broken the story was clear. He glanced at Matthew and grinned insanely, winking.

"I dealt with them already, you needn't worry. Still, I thought my next gesture should be something a little more traditional. So, of course, I sent him flowers! Everyone likes flowers, right?"

He looked at Mr. Whinestone expectantly and the man could only nod dumbly. He was terrified of exciting this man's rage any more.

"Right. So I commission an arrangement from every florist in London, every one! Some of them were rather reluctant, especially since I was sending them to a crime scene, but I took steps to convince them all." He looked smug for half a second before he seemed to be struck by a realization. "Oh! Did I tell you he solves crimes? Well, Sherlock solves crimes, but John helps! He blogs about it too, and he's a doctor!"

Pride shone out of every pore as Jim talked about John. It was clear that he thought the world of the other man. Mr. Whinestone hated to admit it, but he recognized the look. It was the same one he wore when talking about his wife. Maybe, just maybe, he could get out of this alive.

"Maybe he didn't like you interfering with his work? How would you feel if he showed up without warning during one of your jobs?"

The thoughtful look was back, which he counted as a good sign, and Jim sank back into his chair.

"It wouldn't be good."

"Exactly."

"But I've shown up at a crime scene personally before and he didn't get mad at me!"

For just a moment, the businessman imagined his captor as a pouty child. It didn't make him feel any better.

"Well, what was different about that time?"

This made the man stop for a moment.

"Sherlock had already solved it…and I issued a death threat to Donovan." His face lit up like Christmas. "Donovan had insulted John and I defended him! It was like when I was kidnapped and he tracked me down!"

Whinestone didn't even want to think about what it would take to kidnap the criminal mastermind. Furthermore, if he was this insane on his own, he'd hate to see what the man he'd fallen in love with must be like.

"Something similar happened with me and my wife. You have to find a balance between showing your affection and invading the other's space. After all, you may be in a relationship, but you can't consume each other's lives. It's not healthy and it will lead to more strife down the road. Each member must have the freedom to do their own thing from time to time."

"But then how am I supposed to show my affection for him if I have to let him do his own thing?"

"As I said, it's all a balance. Maybe instead of sending flowers from every shop in London, you leave one for him to find when he gets home from work. Instead of blowing up a chip n' pin machine, you encourage him to go to the little farmer's market down the way or you surprise him by picking up the groceries for him every once in a while."

More nodding. Nodding was definitely good.

"You mentioned that you and your wife have a regular date night. Doesn't that get boring after a while? Don't tell me you've been just doing dinner for the past twenty years."

"No, it's important to change it up. We don't do something outlandish every time, but I try and make sure that we keep things interesting. Sometimes I take her out for dinner on a river boat, so it's not the same old boring restaurant. Just every so often, it's important to switch things around and do something extra special."

He could practically hear the grinds working in Moriarty's head. A grin slipped slowly across his face, spreading inhumanly wide. He clapped his hands together and did a little twirl.

"You are absolutely right, Mr. Whinestone, absolutely right! I have just the thing! Thank you, truly." Turning, he strode towards the door, a bound in his step. Just as he reached for the knob, he turned back. "Oh, and Mr. Whinestone? My condolences to your wife."

He was confused for half a second before the bullet entered his brain.

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW JM

To: Seb-Dear

From: The Great and Powerful

Subject: Supply and Schedule for the Week

Seb~!

I've hardly seen you this week! It's a tragedy! We will have to work on improving such arrangements in the future! Have you missed me?

We have a full plate this coming week! Your schedule is attached. I know you hate it there, but I really do need you to take that trip to Syria. It's a small problem now, but it'll prove to be a much larger one if we let this go on. How dull. Also, make sure to make special arrangements for Ms. Conway at next Thursday's meeting. I need to send a message to my other investors and her, frankly appalling, flirtations make her an excellent example.

I need you to choose one of the Dozen to check up on that forgery scheme in Wales. They have been silent for far too long. Perhaps, The Duchess? If so, send someone with her for security. Jezebel would do nicely as well. I just feel this job could use a feminine touch.

Grocery List:

-38 M16's

- 50 WWII style hand grenades

- 15lbs of C4

-Peanut butter, creamy

-The head of Francis Scott Carter

-25 piranha

-A box of those chocolate biscuits I like so much

-5 gal of invisible ink

-1,500 sticky notes, preferably in a variety of colors.

Ta, Seb!

-The Magnificent M

P.S. Could you pick up some caramel apple pie ice-cream as well? I've been craving.

P.P.S. Mr. Whinestone is in Meeting Room 3. Be a dear and send someone to clean him up, would you?

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

To: You Are Not Oz

From: Don't Call Me Dear

Subject: Re: Supply and Schedule for the Week

Jim,

Schedule is fine. I'll take care of it. I am not, however, going to Syria. We talked about this. I'll send the twins, though. They are more than capable of handling the situation.

Speaking of the twins, what is this they're telling me about the chip n' pin explosion last month? I thought you said we weren't involved in that. According to Kili, not only did you order them to do it, you ordered D to help them with the explosives. This is on top of the fact that Graves is _still_ complaining about that week you had him working at the GP. What the fuck are you trying to pull, Jim?

I'm not even going to ask what you need that many sticky notes for. Whatever it is, do not involve the Dozen. I'm so done with this shite.

-Moran

P.S. They don't start making that flavor this early in the year.

P.P.S. That was three days ago, Jim! Lucky for our clean-up crew, I've already had it taken care of.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! A lot more fluff in this chapter. Hopefully I will be posting closer together for the remainder of this story thanks to the planning I did before this chapter. Please let me know what you think!


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